


Bread And Roses

by SpicyReyes



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic Clint Barton, Bisexual Avengers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Every Avenger Is Queer, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, HYDRA sucks, Just Assume No One Is Cishet Okay, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Multi, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Slow Burn, basically 'what would happen if bucky stayed at the end of ca:tws'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8212912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: The Winter Soldier needs data. The Avengers are the best place to gather this. (Or, what would happen if Bucky had stayed with Steve after pulling him from the water)(Alternately: Bucky and Steve get married. Platonically. Sort of.)





	1. Chapter 1

The Winter Soldier was incapable of “gentle.”

He dragged the Man from the Bridge out of the water by his shoulder strap, dropped him onto the sand, and stood still for a moment, considering what to do.

Mission Failure.

He’d never had a mission failure before.

Hydra had taken a serious blow today, their years of work destroyed in an instant, and the Asset’s failure would be one heavy blow among many for the day. He would not be punished lightly.

Vague images and words swam in his brain. _Wipe him, start over._ The feeling that he could never shake, that endless electric current under his skin. An _actual_ current, or the echo of one, used to correct behavior.

Like a dog.

The Soldier shook his head. Doubting his orders was wrong. Hydra was everything, every hope for the future. They would make the world _free._

But…

He did not feel _free._

He felt caged, trapped. Not allowed to even know this man, the stranger laying on the sand. The one who called him _Bucky._

_James Buchanan Barnes,_ he’d said.

The Soldier frowned. He needed more data.

And, since he was still doubting Hydra, he only had one option.

He sat down, next to the Man from the Bridge, and waited.

 

 

The rescue flight came quickly, and soon, a large machine gun was pointed in the Soldier’s direction, and a voice came over the jet’s speaker system. “Step away from Captain America.”

_Captain America._ That sounded…familiar. He filed the term away.

It was better than “Man from the Bridge,” anyhow.

The Soldier did not comply with orders from those who were not Hydra, and thus, remained seated, simply staring down the barrel of the gun in his face.

“I’ll not tell you twice,” the voice came again. “Step away from Captain Rogers.”

_Rogers._ So the man had a name, as well as a title. The Soldier wondered, briefly, what that was like, before frowning at his own thought process.

He had no use for names. He was the Winter Soldier, the Asset. The titles were better than anything silly like a _name._ A name told you nothing about a person. His titles told all.

He heard the ramp release from the plane, and looked away from the fixed point of the gun to watch the descent of the redhead spy, as well as another woman he had never seen.

Both were aiming guns at him.

He eyed them without the slightest change in expression.

They didn’t scare him in the least.

No one did.

“Sargent Barnes,” the unfamiliar woman said, and it took the Solider a moment to realize that she was addressing him.

He blinked at her. It was the only reaction she got.

“Sargent,” she tried again. “Are you lucid?”

“I am not a Sargent,” he finally replied. “Hydra holds no ranks.”

She cocked her gun. “If you want me to trust you, aligning yourself with Hydra isn’t how to do it.”

“I don’t care if you trust me,” the Asset replied, tone unchanging. “I want information. When I get it, I am leaving.”

“What, like the location and names of all remaining loyal SHIELD agents?” the woman suggested. “Give me a break. I’m giving you nothing.”

The Soldier was tempted, for a brief moment, to say something about how she wouldn’t really be able to resist the forms of torture he was familiar with – both in giving and receiving. If he wanted information from _her,_ she wouldn’t have a choice.

“Your information is irrelevant,” the Soldier informed her. “It is _his_ that is pertinent.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to the unconscious Captain, then back to the Soldier. “What did he say to you?”

The Asset froze, before slowly speaking again. “Irrelevant. A question was posed. I will receive the answer, and then-…”

And then, what? He couldn’t go back to Hydra. He had nothing. His mission was a failure. Some meaningless words from a stranger and he’d frozen.

But they were so _familiar._

In his life, he could remember a handful of _feelings_. Anger. Frustration. Lately, confusion.

But whatever he’d felt when this _Rogers_ has said those words on the helicarrier… that was new.

He didn’t even have a name for it.

“Then I will fulfil my mission,” he ended. Whatever his mission was, now. He didn’t have any back-up orders.

With him, there was no need for a _Plan B._

The redhead’s gun clicked once, as well, and she spoke for the first time. “Like hell.”

The voice was familiar. Unlike the man beside him, though, he could _place it._

“Romanova.”

Romanova tensed visibly, and the gun became a little more forcefully aimed toward the space between his eyes.

Okay, no names. He could respect that. “Codename Black Widow,” he corrected. “Who is this man?”

She looked taken aback. “You’re trusting _me_ for information, now, Winter?”

_Finally,_ someone calling him by his _actual title._ “I trust myself to be able to spot a lie,” he corrected.

They stared at each other for a second, before Romanova lowered her gun - not holstering it or even putting the safety on, just getting it out of the Soldier’s face. “Steven Grant Rogers, codename _Captain America_. And your best friend.”

“False,” the Soldier corrected. “My mission.”

“Your _failed_ mission,” Romanova pointed out.

If the Soldier were less trained, he might have flinched.

“What are you gonna do about that, by the way?” Romanova asked. “I doubt Hydra’s gonna be all open-arms when you come back empty handed after their worst defeat in a century.”

“I do not intend to return,” the Soldier bit back before he even thought about it.

That took both women by surprise. “You’re quitting Hydra?” the mystery woman asked.

The Soldier inhaled once, sharply, then huffed out a breath through his nose. He supposed to most it would look like a calming technique. In reality, he simply had little other way of expressing irritation then changes in breathing patterns. “Hydra has suffered a severe blow. They will not be thinking rationally. The destruction of a goal can blind them and lead to the destruction of an asset. It is in the best interest of this asset to remain distant.”

“So basically, you’re scared they’ll be pissed and kill you?” Romanova asked.

“I am not _scared,”_ the Soldier hissed. “I am aware. I am calculating. I have a mission parameter set and I intend to take the necessary path to meet it.”

“Oh yeah?” the other woman asked. “And what’s this mission?”

“Discover the identity and past of one James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

 

They talk – more like argue, really – for a while longer before the Captain begins to choke on air and the other woman ( _Hill_ , Romanova had called her) ordered for them to get on the plane.

For them _all_ to get on the plane.

“You wanna bring him _with us?”_ Romanova practically yelled.

The Soldier had to agree it was a poor plan. He could kill them all, even if he weren’t armed and already irritated. And yet, Hill seemed determined to take him back to their ‘very secret’ base.

Hydra’s top Asset, inside a SHIELD hideout.

No wonder SHIELD had been so easily fooled as to Hydra’s whereabouts. They were all _clearly_ stupid.

“He wants to know who he is. Steve can tell him. We’re not taking him anywhere classified, just to an allied hospital.” She sat in the cockpit, starting the plane, and didn’t even look back at them as they boarded. “And besides – he saved Steve from the water. He’s clearly got _some_ Bucky left.”

The Soldier wanted to protest. He was not this _Bucky_ person. He was the Winter Solider, the Asset. He was a weapon, not a man.

But… he _had_ asked for information, and they were giving it to him.

He chose to play along.

(Of course, by that, he meant keep silent entirely.)

Romanova – _Romanov,_ as Hill called her at one point, she must have modernized the name – continued to argue that they should leave the Soldier behind, but by the time she really got any relevant information out there (including kill count statistics that were a tragically low-ball estimate) they were already in the air.

“Sit down and strap in, Barnes,” Hill ordered.

The Soldier remained standing.

“Suit yourself,” she said, and proceeded to make a sharp turn in the air, as if she meant to send the Soldier stumbling.

He barely shifted.

“Alright,” she muttered. “This is gonna be a _long_ flight.”

 

 

The Falcon met him at the roof by punching him in the face.

The Soldier didn’t even stop him, just let him throw the punch. It knocked his chin a bit, but he barely felt it. He barely felt most things.

Then the Falcon did it again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, the Soldier raised a hand, catching the Falcon’s fist. “If you’re done,” he said simply.

“Not quite,” the Falcon said, and slammed his skull against the Soldier’s.

Gritting his teeth, the Soldier had had enough – and he grabbed the Falcon by the wrist, flipping him onto his back and then getting over him, pinning him down. “If you’re _done.”_

“What’d you do to Steve?” the Falcon spit out. “If you even made a scratch, I swear, I’ll-…”

“He is unconscious from severe facial and abdominal trauma mixed with a brief exposure to water in the lungs,” the Soldier filled him in coolly. As an afterthought, he added, “He’ll live.”

“He better,” the Falcon said. “Where is he?”

“They took him inside roughly at the same time you through the first punch,” the Soldier informed him. “You were distracted.”

“Yeah, well,” the Falcon muttered. “You try _not_ punching you. It’s harder than it looks.”

He then shoved at the Soldier, and so he moved to let the Falcon up.

The Soldier wondered vaguely if that was what it was like to be _forgiven._

 

 

Definitely _not_ forgiven.

The Soldier glared across the hospital bed, from where he sat at Roger’s side. On the other side was the Falcon – _Sam Wilson –_ who, by the looks of it, was not leaving anytime soon.

Wilson was taking every opportunity to try and… _guilt_ the Soldier. Talking with a feigned casual attitude, about _Steve without Bucky._

About how Rogers had frozen when he’d seen “Bucky” on the bridge.

About how Rogers had practically lost his mind over the idea his friend was still alive.

About every little detail about Rogers that he’d apparently “missed” in the past 70 years.

The Soldier wondered if anyone would have cared if the situation were reversed. If he’d remembered this _Steve Rogers,_ and the man had forgotten him. Would anyone sit next to his bedside and try and guilt Rogers into apologizing for doing his job for 70 years instead of…

Instead of _what?_

Finally, he caved, and asked.   
“What would I have changed, had I been present?”

That seemed to catch Wilson off guard. “You mean, besides however long of PTSD and grief?”

The Soldier’s eyebrows knitted together. “What is PTSD?”

Wilson blinked at him. “You’ve gotta be- you seriously don’t know what _PTSD_ is? Did they not have it in the 40s?”   
“Is that where I’m from?” The Soldier asked before he could stop himself.

“…Shit,” Wilson muttered. “They did a number on you, huh?”

The Solider frowned harder. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Wilson said. “Nothing at all.”

 

 

Steve woke up to a bright smile and a cold, calculating stare.

It took him a second to process the latter.   
“Bucky?!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, sure, ignore me,” Sam muttered, as Steve tried to push himself up. Sam instantly pinned him back down by the shoulder. “Easy, there, you’ve gotta heal up first.”

Bucky hadn’t so much as twitched. He was just staring Steve down. Finally, he spoke. “Who is James Buchanan Barnes?”

Steve blinked. “You are,” he answered.

This answer didn’t seem to make Bucky very happy, because he frowned pretty intensely. “I am _not.”_

“But you are,” Steve said. “We were best friends as kids. We grew up together. I followed you into enlistment. I think I’d know my own best friend.”

“But I don’t know _you,”_ Bucky insisted, and Steve flinched.

“That’s not surprising,” Steve answered after a second. “Hydra probably did some pretty awful stuff to you, I wouldn’t be surprised if your memories are lost for a while.”

_Or forever,_ he refused to think.

Bucky seemed irritated. He huffed out a sharp breath. “I have no way of knowing how true that is. You could be lying to me.”

“But you’re here,” Steve said. “So you know, deep down, that I’m not.”

 

 

The Soldier was quiet after that, letting Wilson and Rogers catch up. They talked lowly, as though to keep the Soldier from picking up all the information they were giving (the destruction of Hydra’s weaponry, the disbanding of SHIELD, and so on) but it hardly mattered. He was hardly listening.

He was, instead, thinking about this ‘ _Bucky’_ person. This ‘ _James Buchanan Barnes’._ He was, apparently, Rogers’ best friend.

He was also, according to Rogers, the Asset himself.

The Soldier let out a slow breath, processing this, only to realize the sound had drawn the other two men’s attention.

“You okay, Buck?” Rogers asked.

“Stop,” he whispered, not even in control of the word as it slid out.   
“Stop what?”

“Stop calling me that!” the Soldier stood, slamming a fist into the wall. It was his right hand, so it barely dented it, rather than blowing a full hole in it. He felt a knuckle pop.

He ignored it.

“Whoa,” Wilson said. “Calm down, big guy. You’re not Bucky. We get it. You’re your own man.”

“Sam-...” Rogers started to say, but Wilson must have given him a look (Bucky wasn’t turning to see) because he stopped.

“I am an _asset,”_ the Soldier hissed out. “I am not a _man.”_

“You are,” Wilson insisted. “You just got told different. For a long time. And somewhere along the way, you started thinking it was right. But it’s _not._ I promise you, you’re human. Maybe a little different than the run-of-the-mill guy, but still human. Just like Steve.”

“I am not like Rogers,” he bit out. “I am _nothing_ like Rogers.”

“Okay, bad phrasing,” Wilson said. “But what’s wrong with being like Steve? Just, for the record. He’s a great guy.”

“Thanks, Sam, but I don’t think-…”

“He’s weak,” the Soldier said, quietly. “He knew my face and so he would not fight me.”   
“And you couldn’t kill him,” Wilson pointed out.

“Shut up,” the Soldier bit out.

“No. You couldn’t kill him, because you recognized him. Why can’t you see who he is now?”

“Shut up!”

“ _No._ You need to hear this. Failing a mission doesn’t make _you_ a failure, Barnes.”

“Shut _up_!” the Soldier _did_ punch the wall with his left hand this time, burying it into the drywall. Perhaps it was childish, but he couldn’t exactly hit Rogers or Wilson – much as he wanted to, right now – without compromising his new mission.

He would not accept another Mission Failure.

A hand was on his shoulder, and he immediately spun to push it off. But it wasn’t Wilson or Rogers, it was Romanova.

He squared his shoulders. Romanova was a spy, an assassin. She’d been raised on bloodshed and efficiency. If anyone would understand his need to maintain his mission, it’d be her.

Something in his mind shifted, an old mechanism, and even though she didn’t say his key words, he changed his perception of her.

Romanova became, by default, his Handler.

“Asset Reporting,” he said, and with that, any _Bucky Barnes_ that had bled through was buried.

 

 

Steve stared in horror as Bucky’s eyes went glassy and distant, and he began speaking, but not in English. In _Russian._

“What’s he saying?” Sam asked.   
“I wish I knew,” Steve replied.

But Natasha _did_ seem to know, and she looked…horrified.

When Bucky was done, he simply sat back down in his chair, and watched her.

“What did he say?” Steve asked.

“He…he reported.” She breathed out. “I must have triggered something. He thinks I’m in charge.”

Sam snorted, but Steve didn’t really find it funny.

“He said he failed his mission. That he was- he’s _compromised._ He…requested…Jesus, I can’t do this.”

“Natasha,” Sam said, gently. “What did he say?”

“He surrendered himself to punishment, and…he requested to be _reset.”_ She turned wide, terrified eyes on Steve. “Guys, they were _wiping his memory.”_

Steve had suspected something like that – you didn’t get a complete shut down like that from trauma alone, as far as he knew – but Christ. To think they were actually getting in his brain and just…flipping a switch, ‘resetting’ him _,_ that was a horror story. Having it confirmed just broke Steve’s heart all over again.

Bucky said something in Russian again, and Natasha replied in a very sharp tone in the same language.

“What now?” Sam asked.

“He keeps requesting a wipe. I told him _request denied.”_

Bucky sounded desperate when he spoke up again, and the tone made Steve wish he was well enough to get out of bed and leave the room. Natasha barked at him in Russian for a few words, and then demanded, “English, Winter.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to lock eyes with her, and he _begged,_ “I am compromised. I _need_ to start over.”

“Request denied,” she said again. “Live with it, Winter. You can’t just forget this. _Remember_.”

“I remember _too much,”_ he practically cried. “And not enough. Who am I?”

“Don’t tell him his name,” Sam suggested. “That triggered this to start with.”

“It doesn’t matter who you were,” Natasha said. “It matters who you want to be.”

Bucky seemed to be on the verge of tears. “What does that _mean?”_

“It means you have a new mission,” Natasha said, and Bucky straightened up immediately. “Your parameters: Leave Hydra, and become your own man. Make yourself up from nothing.”

Very quietly, but in a much less tortured tone, Bucky replied, “Mission Parameters accepted. Ready to comply.”

And then he left the room.

 

 

The Soldier had reported, and been given a mission. He was not to reset. He was not to be shocked, he was not to be wiped. He was to _remake himself._

Romanova had not specified whether that meant _remake the Winter Soldier_ or _remake James Buchanan Barnes,_ but after consideration, the Soldier decided it was up to him.

So he left the hospital, and went to the Smithsonian.

The _Captain America_ exhibit was extensive, but the section on “Bucky” was small. It told him the basics, though, which is what mattered. He was born in 1917, on March 10 th. That made him 97. He grew up with Steven Grant Rogers. He was a member of the _Howling Commandos._

The exhibit says he gave his life for the cause. He wondered what cause they meant.

Something told him they weren’t correct, regardless.

He returned to the hospital that evening, through the window, only to find that Rogers’ room was empty.

He left the same way he came in, and staked out the hospital, until the regular business hours were over and all that was open was the ER. He broke in, checking the front desk computers (basic security, laughably easy-to-guess password) and tracking down the address Rogers had on file.

It was real, as far as he could tell.

There was no need to write it down. The Winter Soldier never forgot.

Then again…

Standing in front of Rogers’ apartment door, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was true.


	2. Chapter 2

The Soldier didn’t even really consider _knocking._

First, he looked for a spare key. Then, something to pick the lock with.

Then, he gave up on the door, and went outside, scaling the building and forcing his way in through the window.

He dropped in and rolled forward, standing up in the kitchen…to see three different guns pointed at him.

Romanova, Hill, and Wilson were all there. There were also others, ones he didn’t recognize. Several of them.

He was counting them when one spoke up. “The door too much for you, there, Barnes?”

“I didn’t want to kick it in,” he said.   
“I would have opened it, if you knocked,” Rogers said.

And then there was silence.

To reiterate: the Soldier didn’t even really consider _knocking._

Soon, most of the room was laughing. The Soldier didn’t really get _why._

“You didn’t think to _knock?”_ one of the strangers said. “Christ, honestly, what’s with this guy? Where do you find ‘em, Rogers?”

“1940s Brooklyn,” Rogers replied easily.

The Soldier frowned. “1920s,” he corrected. “James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers met in childhood. James Buchanan Barnes was born 1917.”

Everyone was staring at him. Why were they staring at him? He’d pointed out a statistical error in-…

Oh.

He’d just admitted to knowing Barnes’ birthday.

“I visited the museum,” he said, by way of explanation. “There is very little data.”

“Most of it’s wrong, anyways,” Rogers said. “Like, they said you enlisted, but you were _drafted._ There’s a huge difference.”

 _Drafted._ Term familiar. Meaning to be conscripted into a war.

“You were… _not_ drafted,” he said, slowly. He couldn’t remember reading that, but it sounded right, regardless.

Rogers looked like that was the best thing the Soldier could have said. “That’s right. I volunteered.”

 

Flashes.

_You’re taking all the stupid with you._

The Soldier stumbled slightly, shocked by the…memory? Was that a memory?

Had that been…Rogers?

“I took all the stupid with me,” he muttered.

Rogers suddenly looked _elated._ “You remember that?”

“I don’t know,” the Soldier said. “It just- it came to me. Why did you say that? What does it mean?”

“I was just teasing you, Buck,” Rogers said. “We did that a lot. Messed with each other.”

“You…called me _stupid._ As a…friend?”

Rogers seemed to deflate. “It was funny at the time.”

 

_Stupid thing, can’t follow orders, can’t be controlled, wipe him, start over, get him under control, STUPID THING –_

“Soldier.”

The Soldier straightened immediately, recognizing Romanova’s voice. _Handler Input Accepted._

“Reporting,” the Soldier replied.

“What did you see?” she asked.

The Soldier replied immediately. “A reset. One of…many. I do not remember them all.” He blinked, looking at her blankly. “I remember three.”

“They wiped your mind three times?”

The Soldier shook his head. “At the end of every mission. If I was awake more than…three weeks? If I broke training.” He hesitated, and then. “If I _remembered.”_

He distantly heard someone breathe out a “ _Bucky_ ,” which was probably Rogers. He ignored the whole room. He had a report to do.

“No one will wipe your memory, now,” Romanova said. “You’re free to remember everything you can.”

That _had_ to be a lie. No more memory wipes? How would they clear him for cryo sleep? How would he maintain efficiency? He couldn’t be bogged down with _memories._ He couldn’t. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t-…

“I can’t,” he said. No, _sobbed_.

He’d started crying.

Everyone in the room was suddenly talking, and it was too much noise. He pressed his hands to his ears. “Wipe it!” he cried out. “Take it away! _I remember too much!”_

And then, the room was gone.

He opened his eyes, and he saw the inside of a Hydra base.

He relaxed.

 

It was all a _dream._

 

 

Steve watched as Bucky switched from crying and shaking to, all of the sudden, looking up with a smile. He thought, for the briefest of seconds, that Bucky had remembered him, that it was okay… and then he saw Bucky’s eyes.

They were distant, hazy. Whatever Bucky was seeing, it wasn’t Steve’s apartment.

“Sam,” Steve called, somewhat desperately. “Sam, you know PTSD- what’s going on? What’s happening?”

“He’s hallucinating,” Sam said.

“Yeah, we got that,” Clint said. “ _What_ is he hallucinating? And more importantly, how do we get it under control?”

“You can’t yank someone out of that headspace without consequences,” Sam said, carefully. “We have to ease him out.”

With that, he got up, and approached Bucky quietly and slowly. “Barnes,” he called, and then, “Soldier.”

No response.

“What are you seeing?” he asked.

No response.

Then, “Are you afraid?”

Finally, Bucky replied. “Always.”

 

 

The Soldier didn’t recognize the voice speaking to him. Well, he knew the _voice,_ he just couldn’t place it. Especially since he couldn’t see who was talking.

The base was full of people, but none were addressing him. Whoever was talking must be behind him.

He could just turn and look.

He didn’t turn.

But then the voice asked if he was afraid, and he knew that question. He knew he wasn’t supposed to answer honestly. He was supposed to tell them he knew no fear. That fear was weak and human, and he was above that.

That’s not what he _said._

He froze immediately. “Statement retracted. I am functional.”

“It’s fine, B- Soldier,” the voice said. “I won’t tell your superiors. I won’t tell Hydra. You’re allowed to be afraid.”

The Soldier frowned. “Negative. Fear is weak, fear is human. I inflict fear, as I am above it.”

“No one is above fear,” the voice replied. “Fear is human, yes, but not weak. Those who fear something, and do it anyway, we call _brave.”_ There was a beat, and then, “You’re brave, Bucky.”

That was not the same voice.

This voice was much worse.

“No,” he breathed. “No, no, no, it was a _dream,_ he was a _dream,_ make him go _away-…”_ And now the voices were joined by more voices, and they were yelling, arguing and fighting, and he was hurting so much.

There was a weight on his shoulders. Someone was holding him steady. He must have started shaking.

Another failure.

“Soldier,” the voice said. “Soldier, report. What do you see?”

What an odd question.

“The base,” he answered, trying to keep the tone of his speech even. The superiors couldn’t know he thought the question was stupid.

“What base?” the voice asked.

What an even odder question, the Soldier thought, before realizing that he didn’t actually _know._

“…Tuvalu?” he guessed. He’d never been to that one. It would make since that he wouldn’t recognize it immediately.

The voices were quiet now.

And then, a different voice. “List every Hydra base you know.”

There was more shouting, and the voice defended, “Listen, he _knows_ this stuff, we may as well get him to share-...”

“Tony, no,” the original voice said. The calming one. The one who said it was okay to be afraid.

The Soldier decided he liked that voice.

The voice that had called him _Bucky_ began speaking again, and the first voice told it to shut up, too.

Yes. The Soldier definitely liked that voice.

He decided he wanted to see who it belonged to. So, without any warning, he turned around…

…to see a blank wall.

He sucked in a breath, turning back forward, only instead of a Hydra base, he saw a room full of strangers, with Wilson crouched about a foot away in front of him.

He did the only rational thing.

He jumped out the window.

 

 

“Sam, I can’t just sit here. He could be _anywhere,”_ Steve whined.   
“We scared him,” Sam said. “Just…let him cool down. He’ll be back.”

“And if not?”

“Then we’ll find him.”

 

 

The Soldier was _tired._

He rarely got tired. He often slept during missions only because there was someone else present (i.e. honeypot missions) – otherwise he just stayed awake.

But he’d been awake for about a week and it was starting to wear him down.

He needed at least a few hours of rest.

He sat a park bench for a while, but as he started to drift, a police officer told him he couldn’t sleep there. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, lest Rogers and his friends find him, and thus moved.

Luckily, salvation came.

A woman had been watching him nearly fall asleep, and approached him as he was slinking away.

“Hello, sir,” she said, and the Soldier blinked, because he couldn’t remember a time someone had called him ‘sir.’

When she realized he was not going to reply, she asked, “Are you a veteran? Just…curious, sorry if that’s invasive.”

 _Veteran._ Someone who had fought in a war, and left, typically through discharge.

The Soldier waited a moment, and then, after consideration, gave a single, abrupt nod. After all, if the museum and Rogers were to be believed, he _was_ an MIA soldier.

The woman smiled. “My name is Jessica. I work for the VA.”

The Soldier stared at her blankly.

“Veteran’s Affairs?” She tried.

The Soldier still didn’t understand, but pretended to, giving another quick nod.

“Ah, good. Well, we have a shelter, for homeless veterans. It’s, like, three blocks away. If you need a place to sleep.” She bit her lip (classic nerves, she wasn’t used to approaches, she – _stop analyzing)_ and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “I could walk you?”

The Soldier considered his options.

And then, without fanfare, he nodded again.

 

 

The shelter was strange.

It was a little concrete building, entirely unassuming, and when he stepped in, everyone paused to smile at him (though they may be smiling at Jessica).

It was unnerving.

The Soldier considered fleeing, and took a step backwards toward the door, but Jessica placed a hand on his back. “They’re harmless, I promise.”

The Soldier just stared at her. It wasn’t _them_ he was worried about.

She seemed to catch something like that, because she said then, “And most of them are combat vets themselves, so they know what it’s like. They’re just here to help, they’re not going to hurt you and they won’t purposefully do anything to trigger you.”

The Soldier hunched his shoulders under his stolen baggy hoodie, wishing he could reasonably hide in it. They thought he was _scared_ of them. How sad.

Jessica smiled so kindly, though. It reminded him of a memory he couldn’t even begin to place.

“And don’t worry,” she continued on. “A lot of people come through who don’t talk much, or at all. You’re not alone, there.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that he wasn’t speaking. He supposed it was for the best – he had nothing to say.

She lead him through the front of the building to a little office, where a number of tables were set up. “This is where we sign people in. You don’t have to put all your information, if you don’t want, just give us something to call you and an idea of how long you’re staying, so we can prepare a place for you to sleep and some food to eat.”

Oh, food. The Soldier hadn’t really thought about food. He’d run out of mission supply money two days ago and hadn’t bothered stealing any.

He was suddenly _very_ hungry.

Jessica smiled again. “Hungry, huh? How many days?”

How many since you last ate, he assumed is what she was asking. He didn’t really want to answer, so he shrugged. At the concerned look she gave him, he realized that was the wrong thing to do, and corrected it, holding up two fingers.

She sighed. “We’ll start you off small, so you don’t make yourself sick.”

The Soldier didn’t snort, though it was a close call. _Sick._

He was already _sick._

 

 

They gave him a form and he left it blank, because he didn’t know the answers. Jessica was patient, saying he could fill it out later, if he felt up to it. She then took him to a room with bunk beds, gestured around, and said, “Pick a bunk that doesn’t have sheets, that means it’s open. We’ll make it up for you while you eat.”

The Soldier thought being off the ground was a disadvantage, which was apparently a shared opinion, since of the eight beds in the room, three of the four open ones were up top. He took the open bottom one, and simply laid down in it.

“No, no,” Jessica said. “Let me at least put sheets down. Don’t you want to eat?”

But he was so _tired._ He looked at her.

She sighed. “Please? Can I put sheets down, make it more comfortable?”

The Soldier set his jaw, but obligingly got out of the bunk. Jessica disappeared, assumingly to get ‘sheets.’

She came back with two bags and a man in tow. She handed him the bigger bag. “Here,” she said. “These are some clothes we have, for the people who come in. They should be about your size. That way you can change out of those dirty ones, and we can-…”

But the Soldier was already shaking his head, handing it back. He couldn’t change. Changing meant letting them see his arm. He needed the hoodie, and he needed the gloves.

“You don’t have to,” Jessica said immediately. “We just thought you might want to. You can wear what you want. I’ll leave the bag here, though, in case you get sick of the same old thing. You’re free to take anything from it, or if you don’t like any of those clothes, the back has more. You can just ask the ladies up front at the check-in desk.” She gestured to the form he was still holding. “Put your sizes on there, if you know them. They’ll get you some good things.”

He didn’t know his size. Hydra custom made everything for him. He knew, approximately, what his _measurements_ were, though. He could put those down, he supposed.

Before he could think about it too long, she was opening the second bag. “These are your sheets.” She waved over her shoulder at the man, who, honestly, had sort of slipped the Soldier’s mind.

Sloppy.

“That’s Dakota. He sleeps in here, too. I figured you’d want to meet who you’re rooming with, and the others are busy.”

The Soldier’s brain ran the calculation. Eight beds, four empty. Four people slept in this room.

He looked down at Jessica, who was putting sheets on the bunk.

 _Data retracted._ Not four; _five._

 

 

Jessica finished the sheets before Dakota said a single word. And, when he did speak, it was simply three words.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The Soldier knew both of those countries. Hydra base locations were littered across both of them.

He stared blankly. He didn’t see how _base location_ was relevant.

Dakota waited a minute, before reiterating, “What war? Where’d you fight?”

“Dakota, that’s inappropriate,” Jessica said. The Soldier _liked_ Jessica, he decided. She was familiar, in a weird way.

Very few things were _familiar_. Killing was familiar. Running was familiar. People were all strangers, or Handlers.

That must make Jessica a Handler.

He wondered what her orders would be like.

“Just getting to know the guy,” Dakota defended, but his tone was suggesting that was not _all_ he was doing. Then, he said, to the Soldier, “You really don’t talk much, huh? Mute?”

The Soldier raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what that even meant.   
“Mute means you can’t talk. Vocal cord problems, anxiety, trauma,” Jessica filled in. A beat passed. “You just…you looked confused.”

The Soldier nodded at her explanation, but couldn’t correct it before they assumed that he meant that yes, he _was_ ‘mute.’ Dakota huffed out a breath.

“That sucks,” the man said. “Vocal cord damage, or...?”

The Soldier shifted his weight, and looked toward his newly-made bunk.

He was ready for this conversation – no, this _interrogation –_ to end.

Jessica exhaled sharply. “Dakota, do I need to move him to another room, or can you _be nice?”_

Dakota must have rolled his eyes or something, because Jessica began yelling – only to stop immediately and look at the Soldier with concern.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled,” she said, and it took him a second to realize what she was talking about.

He had _flinched._

_Weak._

 

 

Eventually Jessica stopped apologizing and waved Dakota out of the room, and then took the Soldier to the cafeteria to eat.

It was nothing like Hydra. At Hydra, the room went quiet when he entered. Here, the conversation just kept on, people barely sparing the Soldier a glance.

They must be used to strangers.

Jessica got a tray off a stack and placed it in the Soldier’s hands, and pointed to the line of people holding similar ones. “Just line up, and walk along, serving yourself anything that suits your fancy. Just…go easy on it, okay? If you haven’t eaten in a while, you’ll make yourself sick real quick eating too much.”

The Soldier just stared at her, before handing the tray back.

“You…what, not hungry?” she seemed confused.

The Soldier shook his head, and then walked over to the little line, reaching over to a bowl of fruits and plucking out an apple.

He then walked back to her with it, taking a bite.

She smiled. “Starting small is a good idea,” she said. “Shocking your system is a bad time. You wanna head back to your room to eat that?”

The Soldier considered it. _His room._ He’d never had a room. He’d had the cryosleep chamber.

Straightening slightly, he nodded.

It was time to get some sleep. In _his_ space.

 

 

When back in his room, with the Soldier on his bunk, Jessica started gnawing her lip again.

“I don’t want to push you,” she said, finally. “But I could _really_ use you filling out that form.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I know,” she said, as though the Solider had talked out loud. “I said you could wait. But…It’s just…I don’t have anything to call you, and you can’t just tell me your name. I can’t just keep thinking of you as ‘the bench guy.’”

The Soldier snorted. That was…funny. That was a weird feeling, finding something genuinely amusing.

She smiled that gentle, patient smile again. “Just, think about it, okay?” And she handed him a pen, and left.

 

 

The Soldier spent maybe three hours trying to sleep, before finally rolling over, picking up the pen, and looking down at the form.

_NAME:_

He stared. And stared. And stared.

No alias came to mind. Nothing he could adjust to being called, nothing that fit him. This wasn’t an undercover mission, where he could just pick a name and recall it when necessary. This was…

This was _survival._

They deserved something real.

But he had nothing.

Well….

Not _nothing._

In large, neat, capital letters, the Soldier wrote out:

_J-A-M-E-S_

 

 

He spent the rest of the night over-analyzing every detail of the form, until it was mostly filled out. He put _March 10_ as a birthday, but put no year. He wrote measurements instead of clothing sizes. He accidentally filled them out in centimeters, and decided to leave it, as converting to inches would make him have to cross out and re-write everything, which would make the form sloppy.

He didn’t fill out a middle or last name, just left _James._

There was a psychological evaluation on the back of the information sheet. It asked things like, how much do you sleep? How much do you eat? Do you ever want to harm yourself or others?

The Soldier left those blank. The answers weren’t pretty. _Whenever I’m safe, so never. Whatever isn’t poisoned, so little. Harm is my constant state of being._

At the bottom of the back, though, there was a small section, titled “TRAUMA.” It had things like _General PTSD_ and _Death of comrade(s)_ and _Prisoner of War (POW)._

With a shaky hand, the Soldier circled the entire section.

 

 

 

Jessica’s face when he turned the form in made something in him feel _good_ in a way he couldn’t remember. Again, it felt so _familiar,_ and this time, a word came to his mind.

Well, a name.

_Sarah._

He wondered who that was.


	3. Chapter 3

“James,” Jessica said, looking over his form. “That’s a nice name.”

The Soldier shrugged. It was a name. One that barely even belonged to him. He didn’t necessarily care for it.

Jessica smiled – something she seemed to do a lot, for someone who worked with people who were falling apart – and stood from the desk. “You didn’t list any next of kin, or people to notify you were here,” she pointed out. “None to speak of, or…?” She winced at herself. “Actually, forget I asked. That was insensitive. I had a gift for you.”

The Soldier was confused. A gift?

Jessica handed him back the pen she’d given him the day before, and pulled out a notebook, handing that to him, too. “So you can write stuff down. That way if you have something to say, it can get said.”

That was…

That was _nice._

 

Invalid input.

 

But he may as well make use of it.

Opening to the first page, he wrote in the same neat, bulky letters as the day before, _T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U._

Jessica looked elated.

The Soldier really wondered who _Sarah_ was.

 

 

That night, the Soldier tried to sleep again. This time, though, his brain kept turning over the name _Sarah._

Eventually, his brain tacked on a last name. _Sarah Rogers._

Distantly, he knew that the last name being the same between her and Codename: Captain America was not a coincidence. But he had no idea _who she was._

So, he pulled out his notebook, and wrote a note.

 

 

The next day, he walked back up to Jessica’s desk, and handed her the notebook, flipped open to the relevant note.

 

NEED HELP. RESEARCH? COMPUTER ACCESS.

 

“You want to use a computer?” she asked. “We have a computer lab, but the tech’s old and the internet is slow. You’d probably be better off walking to Starbucks and using the computer there.”

The Soldier took his notebook back and scribbled in it again, handing it back.

 

URGENT.

 

“Oh, okay,” she said. “I’ll show you the computers.”

 

The Soldier had been alive when computers became the first version of the small things they were today.

Distantly, he remembered being taught what a computer was, how to use it. _Very_ distantly.

Mostly, he just knew he was _excellent_ with them.

So, when Jessica showed him the computers, it took him minutes to get one running at twice the speed she’d predicted it would run at, and was searching for the name he’d remembered.

He opened a search engine, and typed in quickly, SARAH ROGERS.

A number of inconclusive results.

He tried again.

SARAH ROGERS STEVE ROGERS.

An article came up, talking about the early days of _Captain America._

The Soldier read the whole thing.

 

 

Sarah Rogers was Steve Rogers’ mother.

She had died when Steve was young to an illness they had both gotten.

It didn’t say that James Buchanan Barnes attended the funeral, but somehow, the Soldier knew he had.

It didn’t say that she had a smile to light up the world, but the Soldier knew she had.

It didn’t say that James Buchanan Barnes loved her as though she were his own mother, but the Soldier knew he had.

 

 

Jessica found James crying.

He didn’t even seem to know he was doing it. He wasn’t shaking or sobbing, but there were tears on his face.

“James?” she called. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t seem to hear her.

She backed out of the room.

This man…he needed someone above her paygrade.

 

 

Jessica found Sam Wilson in his daily group meeting, as per usual at this time of day. He was giving sagely advice to a sad-looking woman who must’ve spoken up about something tragic.

Jessica didn’t bother to listen. She was here for a reason.

Sam dismissed his group and then, as he was straightening up the room, caught a glimpse of her.

“Jess, girl,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

“I need your help, Sam,” she said, and Sam frowned.

“I got a lot on my plate right now,” Sam said slowly. “My friend- he’s having a rough time. I gotta be there for him. I ain’t got a lot of time away from him.”

“Just an hour of your time,” she insisted. “It’s important. He needs you.”

Sam sighed. “Alright, who is he?”

“That’s just it,” Jessica said. “I don’t know.”

 

 

 

“He circled the _whole thing?”_

“I know,” Jessica said. “I thought he was just screwing around, at first, but the way he acts…honestly, I’d believe it. If he really did go through that much.”

“And he just…” Sam ran a hand down his face. “He just came up to you, asked to use a computer, and then had a breakdown?”

“Reading an article on, get this: Captain America.”

Sam froze, suddenly. “Jess,” he said. “Take me to him.”

“What is it?” She asked. “Wait, do you – do you _know_ this guy?”

“Just…” Sam began. “Just take me to him.”

 

 

_Flee._

That was the Soldier’s first reaction to seeing Sam Wilson step into his room.

He’d found a semi-safe space. Somewhere he could eat and (try to) sleep. Somewhere with a familiar smile and a comforting atmosphere of _you’re not entirely lost, we’re all broken._

And now, here Wilson was, to ruin it.

“Hey, there, James,” Jessica said, all bright smiles, though her eyes gave away how worried she was. “This is-…”   
“We’ve met,” Wilson interrupted. “Barnes. Steve’s looking for you.”

_Abort mission. Mission failure. Trail not cold, identity compromised. ABORT MISSION. FLEE._

“James?” Jessica asked. “James, I need you to breathe. You look like you’re about to run, but I promise, Sam’s only here to help.”

The Soldier shook his head. Pulling out his notebook, he wrote in shaky hand:

CAN’T GO BACK, TOO MANY VOICES, TOO MANY GHOSTS, CANNOT REMEMBER, DON’T WANT TO REMEMBER, CAN’T GO BACK –

Jessica’s hands folded over his own. “It’s okay, James. No one’s making you go anywhere you don’t want to.”

And then Jessica turned to Wilson. “How does he know you? Why is he so afraid of you?”

“It’s not me he’s scared of,” Wilson said. “It’s himself.”

The Soldier couldn’t handle this. _Identity compromised. Remove risky variables._

And so he launched.

“James!” Jessica screamed, but the Soldier had Wilson pinned already. He dug his thumbs into the man’s neck, ready to bear down, but then…

Then something clicked.

_New mission. Your parameters: Leave Hydra, become your own man._

_Make yourself up from nothing._

Murder was not part of the new Soldier’s mission.

Murder was _Hydra._

He let go.

 

 

And then, he ran.

 

 

No one stopped him on the way out of the building. No one stopped him when he ran down the road. No one stopped him when _kept_ running, when he pushed past endless seas of people and made his way to the heart of D.C., and stumbled his way back into the Smithsonian.

 

 _James Buchanan Barnes,_ the sign declared him.

 

It was just a _name._

But, maybe names held weight, after all.

 

 

Wilson found him there, standing in front of his own memorial sign.

“You scared Jessica,” he told the Soldier.

The Soldier did not reply.

“I calmed her down, before following you. Told her you associated me with trauma, since I’ve accidentally triggered you before. Not too far from the truth.”

No reply.

“So, my only question here is…why’d you stop? Not that I’m not grateful to still be breathing. But, seriously. What held you back?”

“New mission,” the Soldier said, voice hoarse from a week of disuse. “Leave Hydra. Hydra is death. Death is Hydra. I can’t kill if I want to be successful.”

“Well,” Wilson said. “Thank God for that. Or, thank Natasha?”

 _Natasha,_ not Natalia. Such small changes, yet so significant.

Names _did_ hold weight.   
“Natasha,” he said, trying the sound out. “Natasha Romanov. Black Widow.”

“Uh, yeah,” Wilson said.

“Sam Wilson,” the Soldier continued. “Falcon.”

“Uh-huh. That’s me.” Sam sounded uncomfortable now.

“Steven Grant Rogers. Steve Rogers. Captain America.”

“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out.”

There was a pause. “James Buchanan Barnes. _Bucky_ Barnes. Howling Commando.”

Another beat.

“The Winter Soldier.”

A hand landed on his shoulder.

The Soldier – no, _Bucky –_ allowed it.

“Yeah, buddy,” Sam said. “The Winter Soldier. But that’s not all you have to be.”

“New mission,” Bucky said. “Fuck the mission.”

Sam smiled. “Let’s go see Steve.”

 

 

Steve was on his feet the instant their shadows fell in his doorway.

“Bucky!” he cried.

Bucky swallowed. “Sort of.”

Steve stopped short. “You…you remember?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t remember. But I want to remember. I want to _know.”_

“Know… what?”

“Who I am,” Bucky said. “I want to know who I am.”

 

 

Bucky stepped into the other room, the one Steve had been in before they arrived. It was a bedroom, but it was full of…boxes.

“You’re…packing?” Bucky asked.

“Moving,” Steve said. “I’m headed to New York. Tony opened a floor at the Tower for me… The, uh, Avenger’s Tower. Used to be the Stark Tower. The big building in New York, you know?”

Bucky shook his head. “Even my missions in New York are foggy. Most everything is an unknown.”

“Well, I mean,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “You could- Tony said- well…do you wanna come with me?”

Bucky blinked. “To New York?”

“To live in the Tower,” Steve said. “Tony said to extend the invitation if you came back. Said he knows a thing or two about recovery.”

Bucky flinched. “I kind of scared the shit out of my last place to stay,” he murmured. “So…I guess.”

Steve grinned. “You won’t regret it, buddy. I promise.”

 

 

Sam spent the next few days at Steve’s apartment, helping Bucky, who in turn helped Steve pack.

Every once in a while, Bucky would pause, look at something small and irrelevant, and ask, “What’s this?”

And Steve would explain that _that’s this, and it does this._ And Bucky would feel stupid for not knowing, and Sam would step in and say, “You’ll catch up eventually. You’ve got less to learn than Cap did – _you_ at least know how to Google.”

And then Steve would blush and bicker with Sam until Bucky didn’t feel so uneasy, and they’d all go back to packing.

Bucky had nothing to pack, but he did have things to do. On the second day he was there, Sam looked him up and down and said, “Seriously, take a _shower,_ dude.”

So he’d spent a while figuring out the perfect temperature to shower at that wasn’t cold enough to be like the ice and wasn’t warm enough to feel like he was being scalded but also wasn’t too lukewarm because water torture _was_ a thing.

And so he’d settled on “mildly cold” and taken a quick shower, and gotten out, reaching for where his clothes were-

To find they weren’t there.

He went on red alert.

His shoes were still there, so at least one of his knives was present, and he pulled that out. Then he cracked open the door, checking out it, before stepping out, venturing through the apartment, into the living room, where Steve and Sam were sitting.

“Where are my clothes?”  
“Huh?” Sam said. “Oh yeah, I put them in the wash to- oh, JESUS!”

“Christ, Buck,” Steve echoed, when he turned around as well. “Put on a _towel,_ at least.”

Bucky blinked. He was naked, because they took his clothes, not on purpose. And he had a towel – he was drying his hair with it. “Why?”

“Because it’s not normal to look at somebody naked you’re not in bed with,” Sam said. Then, quietly, he said, “Don’t tell me Hydra walks around base naked. Cause I seriously couldn’t handle that news.”

Bucky shook his head. “Uniforms are mandatory. _My_ uniform was not.”

“So you just like being naked?”  
“Like is irrelevant. I had no clothes.”

“Not right now, I mean on base,” Sam said. “You walk around naked, there, too?”

“For bathing,” Bucky said. “And surgeries. And inspections. Anything where they needed to look at my skin. It was more convenient to let them see it all at once.”

“You got _inspected?”_ Steve asked.

“For injuries,” Bucky clarified. He _didn’t_ tell them that any injuries he received in the field were usually matched by his Handler when he reported in. That was irrelevant.

“Okay, this is making me seriously wanna go punch some Hydra bastards in the face, but,” Sam began. “I _really_ need you to get dressed. Your clothes are still in the wash, though, so- Steve?”

“Borrow some of mine,” Steve said. “I’ll get you something that should fit.”

And Steve left the room.

That left Sam and Bucky staring at each other, while the latter was naked.

“Don’t steal my clothes,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I think I got that.”

 

 

Soon Bucky was dressed in drawstring pants and a t-shirt that were both a bit loose, but comfortable. More comfortable really than his jeans and hoodie had been, even if the hoodie had the benefit of hiding his arm.

Sam seemed to pick up on him being uncomfortable with that out there, as he spoke up, saying, “I wonder if Tony could find you a way to make that arm look like it’s skin.”

Bucky turned to him, eyes wide. “You think he could do that?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s an idea. He’s an engineer, I don’t there’s anything he can’t build. And Banner lives there too, and he’s a big fan of biology. Between the two, you could probably get something built.”

Suddenly, Bucky was actually looking _forward_ to moving into the tower.

 

 

They said goodbye to Sam at the airport before boarding the private jet of Tony’s to the tower.   
“Don’t worry, I won’t be behind long,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.   
“I applied to the VA center in NYC. They snatched me right up. I turned in my two weeks’ yesterday.”

Steve let out a joyous noise and scooped Sam up into a big hug, which made something turn unpleasantly in Bucky’s stomach.

Sam seemed happy about it, though, and so did Steve, so Bucky let it happen.

He had no reason for it to make him uncomfortable.

“Careful, Steve,” Sam said. “You’re gonna crush me. Or worse, word’ll get around I’m being swept off my feet by Captain America. Then people’ll _really_ talk.”

Bucky frowned. “Talk about what?”

Steve sat Sam back down, and the Falcon rubbed the back of his neck. “You know. There’s already rumors that I’m Cap’s secret boyfriend, since we keep getting caught during our runs.”

_Boyfriend._

Bucky clammed up fast. “Oh.”

Bucky’s only real experience with same-sex relationships that he could _remember_ were a selection of honeypot missions where he had to play Kept Boy to some old rich bastard to get a hold of some asset before slitting the man’s throat and running off in the night, retreating to Hydra.

Those had always been _secret._ The men had treated him with _shame_ and _fear,_ not…elation.

They certainly wouldn’t have scooped him up in the middle of an airport.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said, more to himself than anything.

Sam frowned. “Don’t tell me I have to school you on _gay ain’t a bad thing,_ alright? I hate having that talk.”

Bucky wasn’t listening. “Why would he- I mean, if you were _together,_ he’d be _subtle.”_

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Not necessarily? Do you think people who date are always ashamed of each other?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “In my experience.”

Sam shook his head, about to say something, when Steve interrupted. “Did you date with Hydra?”  
“What?” Bucky asked. “No! No, I had _honeypot missions._ Seductions. I didn’t- most of the people I met in Hydra were dead or gone by the time I woke up again.”

Steve flinched. “You were just talking like… Nevermind. We’re gonna miss our flight.”

“Before you go,” Sam said. “I’m just checking. You’re not homophobic, right, Barnes?”

“Is that really-…”

“I don’t even know what that _means,”_ Bucky said.

“It means you don’t like same-sex relationships,” Steve filled in. “And it’s _not important right now.”_

“It’s _always_ important, Steve,” Sam insisted.

“Are you in one?” Bucky asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Would you care if I _was?”_

_I would if it was with Steve._

Bucky blinked. Whoa, where had _that_ thought come from? He shook it off. “I don’t care. Your relationships are irrelevant.”

“But it doesn’t disgust you? You don’t see them as different from other relationships?”

“Sam,” Steve started, but both men were ignoring him.

“ _No,”_ Bucky insisted. “Because they’re _all irrelevant.”_

“And if they become relevant?”

“They must be eliminated,” Bucky recited. “Missions cannot be compromised.”

“There’s more to life than _missions_ ,” Sam said. “You need to learn that.”

“We’re gonna miss our flight, guys,” Steve whined.

“It’s a private jet,” Sam said. “It can wait.”

Bucky huffed. “Alright, do you want an opinion? _I don’t care._ It _doesn’t affect me._ And, for the record, _not all my honeypots were women._ ”

Sam and Steve just stared at him.

Bucky realized what he’d admitted to and retreated. “Can we leave, now?”

Steve nodded, taking a step back from Sam. “See you in a couple weeks,” he told his friend, and they both headed toward the plane.

 

 

They didn’t talk about Bucky’s admission until they were in New York airspace.

“So you…”

“Don’t.”

Steve shut his mouth…for about five minutes.

“You know I don’t mind, right?”  
“Good,” Bucky said. “Because it doesn’t affect you, so you don’t get an opinion.”

Steve winced. “I’m just – do you actually _like…?”_

“Shut up.”

“I’m just making sure it wasn’t something that Hydra just forced you to do.”

“ _Everything_ was something Hydra made me do,” Bucky said. “I didn’t _like_ any of it. I liked succeeding. I liked being praised. I liked being rewarded. I disliked failing. I disliked being scolded. I disliked being punished. Simple lines, black and white. I didn’t care what fell in between.”

“That’s not an answer,” Steve said.

“You’re right,” Bucky said. “The answer is, it’s _none of your business.”_

The other answer was, _I don’t fucking know._


	4. Chapter 4

They were met at the airport by a man who introduced himself as _Happy,_ which confused Bucky a lot.

“But what’s your _name?”_ he asked, for the third time, on the ride to Stark tower.

“I told you, it’s Happy,” the man said.

Bucky let out a frustrated noise. “That is the _worst_ fake name I’ve ever heard. It’s not believable.”

‘Happy’ rolled his eyes, which Bucky only caught because of the way he’d angled the rear view mirror. “Fine, you want my real name? _Harold_. But I don’t like it, and Tony wanted to give me a nickname, so _Happy_ it is.”

Bucky slumped in his seat. “So you’re allowed to just…reject your name? Change it to whatever you want?” He didn’t ask if he could be something other than _Bucky,_ but Steve and Happy both seemed to catch on.

“You can be whoever you want, Bucky,” Steve said. “Or…do you _want_ to be called something else?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered immediately, and then, “No. I don’t know. I don’t have anything else _to_ be called.”

The rest of the ride was quiet.

 

 

The Avenger’s Tower was _huge._

Bucky stood before it, staring up at its impressive stature, and wondered, _how do you even build that high?_

But that thought didn’t last long, because then the Soldier’s mathematic knowledge kicked in, and began calculating the structural integrity of every single part of the building.

Within seconds, he was pointing at a spot on the Tower’s side. “If you ever need to take this thing down, the weakest part is a support beam right there.”

Steve paused in unloading his bags from the car. “No, Buck, we’re not destroying Stark’s building.”

“Yeah, no, that’s a bad idea,” Happy said. “Head of security here. Don’t discuss destroying that thing in front of me.”

Bucky turned to him, eyeing him carefully. “You’re head of security?”

Happy nodded. “Yup.” 

Bucky turned back to the building, mentally noting, _Light security._

“Anyway,” Steve announced, pulling his last bag from the car. “I’ve got all the stuff that I brought with us. Tony has the rest, right?”

“Yeah,” Happy said. “He had it brought out. It’s waiting in your room. He offered to let people unpack it, but Pepper wouldn’t let him touch any of it, so.”

“Remind me to thank Pepper,” Steve said.

Bucky noted the name. It _also_ sounded fake. “What’s _her_ real name?”

Happy let out a frustrated groan. “It’s _Virginia,_ but Tony likes nicknames, okay? Just roll with it.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “It’s better than Dum-Dum, I guess,” he said, not even really thinking about it.

Steve froze. “You remember the guys?”

“What guys?” Bucky asked. He thought about what he said. “Dum-Dum…Where’d I even get that? What, did we know a-…?”

“Dum-Dum Dugan,” Steve explained. “One of the Howling Commandos.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “There were...ten? Including us?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding choked. “You, me, Dum-Dum, Morita, Gabe, Dernier, Falsworth, Junior, Pinky, and Happy Sam.”

“We had _another_ Happy?” Bucky asked, exasperated. “That’s such a terrible nickname. Those are _all_ terrible nicknames. Who came up with them?”   
“Me, mostly,” Steve admitted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “At least I got off easy. _Bucky_ is respectable.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I was a little better at nicknames pre-serum.”

“You were also a little shit,” Bucky said immediately. And then, “Huh. I actually remembered a little about that. You…you liked getting in fights. A _lot.”_

Happy snorted, from where he stood to the side. “Are you sure you remember that right? _Captain America_ as a street scrapper?”

“No, he’s right,” Steve said. “I used to get punched a lot. I just…I’ve never liked bullies. So I’d step in when I saw ‘em.”

Happy looked awed, but something set wrong with Bucky. “No, that’s wrong,” he said. Steve looked mildly offended, but Bucky was remembering now. “You stepped in when someone _offended_ you. Sometimes you could’ve just said they were wrong. You just…you had so much to prove.”

_Like you’ve got nothing to prove._

Bucky’s spine straightened. “Let’s go in, huh?”

And he walked away from the two men at the car. He couldn’t deal with them right now.

He was _remembering._

 

 

There was a _lobby,_ like it was some fancy hotel. There were a lot of people in it.

Bucky immediately stuck his hand in his pocket. He had worn the hoodie and his gloves, for the airport, but he was still paranoid.

The receptionist looked up and gave him a tense, fake smile. “Press isn’t accepted at this time. You can wait here in the lobby if you’re print, but TV journalists must come back only when invited.” Then she looked him over, and added, “The Maria Stark foundation building is-…”

“He’s not homeless,” Steve’s voice came from behind him. “He’s with me.”

The receptionist straightened. “Captain, sir. You know the way up. The elevator should take you, but I’ll have to give your friend a clearance badge.”

“He’s in the system,” Steve insisted. “Tony added him. At least, he said he did.”

“Wait,” the receptionist said. “This is him? The new Avenger?”

And _that_ froze Bucky. “The new _what?”_

Everyone was staring at him, but he shut them out. He looked to Steve. “You didn’t tell me you were _enlisting me.”_

“We’re not,” Steve said immediately. Then, in a low voice, “Buck, we’re not, honestly. You’re just listed as part of the team because you’re staying here.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m _not_ an Avenger,” he said. “I’m an _asset_ of Hy-..”

“Bucky, shh,” Steve said, taking a step closer. “This room is full of reporters. They’ll write down everything they hear you say.”

Bucky looked around. Sure enough, no one was _directly_ staring at them, but he could see tape recorders out, pens moving furiously across notepads, and a _ton_ of people listening intently.

He prayed he’d been speaking low enough to get away with the argument. He didn’t want to be introduced to the world as _that guy who acted offended about being an Avenger._

“I’m gonna say this once,” he whispered to Steve. “I’m done fighting fights for other people. I’m _not_ joining your group, not unless I _want_ to. Don’t _ever_ presume that I’ll do something without asking me. I’m sick of that.” And then, louder, he added: “And if any of _you_ caught any of _that_ , I strongly suggest you forget it happened.” Finally, to the receptionist, he asked, “How do we get up?”

“This way,” Happy said from the doorway, and then lead them to the elevator.

 

 

The elevator ride was silent, tense, and awkward. Steve tried to apologize a grand total of four times, being shut down each time he opened his mouth.

Soon enough, though, it was over, and they all stepped out onto the “Living Room” style floor. The _Rec Floor,_ as the robotic voice in the elevator called it.

“Good afternoon, sirs,” the robotic voice called when they stepped off. Bucky spun around, looking for its origin point, but could see no speakers or even cameras.

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Bucky asked.

“That’s JARVIS,” Happy said. “He’s an AI.”

“Artificial intelligence,” Steve filled in immediately. “That means-…”  
“I know what it means,” Bucky said. He didn’t know _how_ he knew it, or where he learned it, but he knew what it meant. “And Tony Stark just…has it, over the whole building?”   
“I control every aspect of the building,” JARVIS announced, sounding oddly _proud,_ for a computer. “I maintain all the energy intake and output levels, I monitor security, I-…”

“You’re a guard dog,” Bucky summarized. “ _You’re_ the head of security.”

Happy looked offended.

Bucky ignored him. “That’s…”

Steve looked ready to calm him down, should he panic, but instead, he got a different reaction entirely.

“That’s _awesome,”_ Bucky announced. “How are you run? What powers that much programming?” Bucky looked around again. “It’s gotta be sustainable, or it wouldn’t be trustworthy. And it’s gotta be protected, because otherwise, enemies could just take it out and you’d be useless.”   
“I am powered, currently, by a series of highly guarded Arc Reactors.”

“Currently?” Bucky questioned. “What, someone take you out before, and they had to upgrade?”

“Negative,” JARVIS said. “I have never been disabled fully. However, when Mister Stark upgraded to clean energy, he changed my power source, as well as that of the whole tower and most of the city’s power grid.”

“Oh, _man,”_ Bucky said. “That’s so – I mean – _how are flying cars_ not _a thing?”_ He ran a hand through his hair. “Tony Stark is a _genius,_ if he built all of this. Did he program you line-by-line? No, that would’ve taken centuries. So he must have written enough code for you to be able to fill in the rest. An evolving AI. That’s…that’s _revolutionary.”_

“Well, thanks,” another voice said. “It’s always nice to be recognized.”

Bucky jumped, spinning around and pulling a knife from his boot. “Who the fuck are-…”

“Whoa, calm down, tiger,” the man said. “You’re in _my_ tower.”

Bucky straightened. “You’re Stark,” he breathed.

“Uh, _Tony_ works, you know. Last names are kind of militia for my tastes,” he waved at the knife Bucky was still holding. “Can you put away the sharps? Not that I couldn’t totally knock it across the room, but, y’know. I’d rather _not.”_

Bucky snorted. He didn’t really believe Tony could take him in a fight, but he put away the blade regardless.

“Now, if we’re done being threatening and scary, can we go back to praising my infinite genius?” Tony asked. “I like when that happens. So rare, these days.”

“Tony, people right _full articles_ talking about how smart you are,” Steve protested. “I read one _yesterday.”_

Tony waved a hand in a vague gesture. “Semantics. No one does it to my _face._ You guys all take me for granted.”

“Cry me a river, Stark,” Romanov- no, _Natasha_ said, walking into the room. “I’m taking you abandoning the game as a forfeit, by the way.”

“What game?” Steve asked.

“We were in a riveting game of strip poker,” Tony said immediately, to which Natasha rolled her eyes.

“ _Regular_ poker. I’m not stripping for you, Stark, not in a million years.”

“So don’t lose,” Tony said. “Easy, peasy.”

“If I win you accuse me of cheating,” she said.

“Because you _are,”_ Tony whined.

Bucky looked at Steve, raising an eyebrow, as if to ask, _Is this normal?_

Steve just sighed.

Guess that answers that.

 

 

Eventually, Tony and Natasha stopped bickering, and Tony clapped his hands together. “So! Rooms. JARVIS, pull up the floorplan. Highlight available floors.”

A hologram suddenly appeared, three dimensional and mind-blowing. Bucky stared at it in awe.

“Yes, please, keep making that face,” Tony said. “It’s a comfort to know I can still blow the socks off of old men.”

“’M twenty-seven,” Bucky protested quietly.

“You’re _ninety-_ seven,” Tony corrected.

“Semantics,” Steve said, echoing Tony’s word from earlier. “We’re young at heart.”

Tony rolled his eyes, and then pointed into the hologram. “The red floors are claimed. The yellow ones are R&D, so they’d have to be cleared before you could take them. And the green ones are up for grabs.”

“Jeez, Tony, I don’t know,” Steve said. “Just put me somewhere, I don’t really care where.”

And then they were all looking at _him._

Bucky was still transfixed by the hologram, but looked away quickly when he felt the eyes. “Can I…” and then he mumbled the rest of his request.   
“Can you repeat that? In understandable English, preferably,” Tony asked.

“Can I stay in the same floor as someone else?” Bucky asked. “I don’t know what I’d do with that much space. I can’t even remember ever having my own _room_.”

Tony blinked at him.

“He can stay with me,” Steve said immediately. “Clint and Natasha share a floor, right? We’ll do the same.”

“They do that because they _fuck_ sometimes,” Tony said. “Easy access. Something you wanna tell me, Rogers?”

“They do _not_ ,” Rogers protested. “They’re friends.”

“With benefits,” Tony emphasized. “Friends _with benefits.”_

“I’m lost,” Bucky said. “Can I share a floor with someone, or not?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Go where you want. Free country. I’ll set up a floor for you and the Ice Princess here and we’ll be good to go.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Ice princess?”

“I was frozen for seventy years,” Steve explained. “Tony likes to joke about it.”

“Don’t do that about me,” Bucky said immediately.

Tony blinked, then said, “Alright. No ice jokes for Cap’s boo. Got it.”

Bucky didn’t bother asking for an explanation for that one. He just accepted the agreement and moved on.

 

 

Tony asked (actually _asked,_ not _ordered)_ the AI, JARVIS, to send all of Steve’s stuff to their floor, and then walked into the other room that he and Natasha had come from. He waved for them to follow him, so they did.

The room was some sort of game room, with a billiards table and various other game setups.

Bucky was instantly drawn to where Natasha and some man were playing darts. There were three darts in the bull’s eye, and as he watched, Natasha moved to pluck them out, only to back up and throw one right back in.

“If these were launched from a bow,” the man said, “I’d be better at this.”

“You’re better than Bruce,” Natasha comforted.

“Everyone’s better than Bruce at darts,” the man said. “That’s just insulting.”

Natasha looked over as Bucky walked up, giving him a once-over, before asking, “Homeless chic?”

“Huh?”

“The outfit,” she said. “You realize if you’re in Stark Tower, people will expect you to doll up.”

“Fuck them,” Bucky said immediately. “I’ll wear what I want.”

Natasha and the man both grinned. “My kind of man,” the man said, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Clint Barton. Or _Hawkeye,_ if that suits you better.”

Bucky stared at him for a second, before hesitantly shaking his hand. “James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes. The Winter Soldier,” he recited.

It didn’t feel like an introduction, just a rehearsed statement.

Clint seemed to pick up on that. “As someone who’s had their head invaded by people that aren’t supposed to be there – you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Bucky tipped his head. “Can I get an explanation for that?”

“Loki, the invasion of New York,” Clint said. “What’d’you know about it?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said. “Even if I was awake, they probably wiped it.”

“Yikes,” Clint said. “Ask JARVIS to get you a copy of the debrief. He can get you anything.”

Bucky agreed to do that. It was better than not knowing what to do.

 

 

He watched Clint and Natasha play darts for a while, Natasha beating Clint by a mile (even though they had both, by normal standards, been excellent, Natasha actually _hit_ the bull’s eye each time, while Clint mainly just got _close_ to it).

“I can’t _throw,”_ Clint said. “I’m not used to that kind of motion in my shoulder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha said. “Whine about it. I still won.”

“You guys need a fair competition,” Bucky said. When they both looked at him, he felt slightly awkward for having spoken, but forced himself to keep speaking. “Natasha had an advantage, because she throws things all the time. Clint doesn’t. What are you _both_ good at?”

“Hand-to-hand,” Clint said. “We were both trained extensively.”

“I’m not sparring against him, though,” Natasha said. “He goes easy on me and I beat him, every time.”

“Well then,” he said. “I haven’t _sparred_ in years.”

Natasha and Clint both grinned.

 

 

It took a lot of effort to just _block_ the blows they threw, not return any, but he did it. He dodged and blocked and ducked, refusing to let either land a solid hit.

Before long, they’d actually teamed up, and were both going at him at once.

Bucky _loved_ it.

It was exhilarating to be fighting again, even if it was just pretend. And it was an actual exercise: two well-trained assassins against one super-soldier, the fight was balanced. Especially since Bucky had given himself a personal rule not to hit back.

A rule that, at Natasha’s prompting, he quickly abandoned.

Soon, it was a full-on spar, all out on both sides (or, as _all out_ as it could be, without lethal force).

But, like all good things, it must come to an end.   
“Are you _out of your mind?”_ a voice yelled, and Bucky stopped and stumbled back just in time for Clint to land a solid punch to his jaw.

Bucky reacted immediately, grabbing Clint’s fist and flipping him onto his back, and was about to pin him, when there were hands on his back, hefting him off.

“Barnes, _stop,”_ the voice yelled, and he looked up to see some man he didn’t recognize, who looked like he was barely maintaining calm.

“Banner, calm down,” Natasha said quickly. “We were _sparring,_ not fighting.”

The man – Banner – looked mildly ashamed, but the rage was still there, clearly bubbling beneath the surface. “You need to be _careful.”_

“I’m in control,” Bucky said. “More than _you_ seem to be.”

Banner turned a cold stare on him. “That’s more true than you know.”

“Barnes,” Natasha said. “Meet Bruce Banner, codename _Hulk.”_

 _You destroyed Harlem,_ Bucky thought. He’d heard about that, distantly, though Hydra. They’d wanted to bring him in and make _him_ a weapon.

Instead of saying that out loud, he announced, “You’re bad at darts.”

Bruce stared blankly, and then laughed. “ _That’s_ what they told you about me?”

Bucky shrugged. “Information is only relevant in certain scenarios. When playing darts, those who are _bad_ is relevant.”

“Sagely advice,” Bruce murmured. “Sorry I got…angry. I don’t like people playing with fire.” He gave a small, polite, yet strained smile. “No offense.”

Bucky _was_ offended, but he also understood Banner’s point. “Yeah, well. The _fire_ in question is _trying_ not to burn anyone, so give it a little more credit.”

“I always try not to burn,” Bruce said. “ _Trying_ doesn’t always help.”

Bucky’s arm whirred as he resisted the urge to punch something. He wondered if Bruce knew how much _trying_ was helping him right now.

Bruce seemed to catch on, or at least, his attention was drawn away. He looked down at the arm, where it was exposed – Bucky had taken his hoodie and gloves off to spar.

“That’s an interesting prosthetic,” Bruce said. “I’m sure Tony would love to see how it works.”

“I’d love to see it replaced,” Bucky said without thinking.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “It functions entirely similar to a human arm, and yet, you’re unhappy with it.” It wasn’t an accusation or an implication, just a statement.

Bucky shrugged. “I hate having a Soviet branding mark on me. I hate that people can’t see my left side. I hate that I have to wear fucking _gloves_ and a hot ass jacket everywhere.”

Bruce smiled. “I’ll talk to Tony. I’ll see what we can do.”

And just like that, Bruce was forgiven. Better yet, he was quickly becoming one of Bucky’s favorites.

 

 

Their floor was…big.

There were so many _rooms._ There was a kitchen and a TV room and bathrooms and master bedrooms and…

Bucky was never gonna learn the layout of this floor, let alone the whole tower.

Steve, on the other hand, walked straight to the kitchen, like he’d been there a thousand times.

“How do you know where everything is?” Bucky asked.

“Huh?” Steve asked. “Oh, yeah. The floor. Most of the living floors are laid out the same way. I think Tony just copy-and-pasted the layout, to be honest.”

Well, that was comforting. Less to memorize.

He spent the rest of the afternoon walking the floor, learning where everything was.

There were thirty-seven windows on the floor.

Thirty-seven emergency exits, basically.

He poked his head out of one. He could survive that fall, he guessed. Minimal damage, if any.

“Sir,” JARVIS said. “If you are considering jumping, might I suggest you take the elevator instead?”

“Just mapping exits, JARVIS,” Bucky assured him.

“The tower has the upmost security. I assure you, an emergency escape will not be necessary.”

“It’s not outside threats I’m afraid of, JARVIS,” Bucky murmured.

JARVIS didn’t reply. Bucky was grateful for that.

 

 

The night rolled around, and Bucky searched the bedrooms, trying to decide which would be ‘his.’

In one, he found a box, labeled, “WINTER.”

He assumed it was for him, and pulled out a knife, cutting it open.

Inside were…clothes? All sorts of clothes.

He pulled them out one by one. There were what he assumed were pajamas, much like the ones he’d worn at Steve’s – drawstring pants and t-shirts.

There were also various graphic t-shirts, mostly abstract designs, which assumed were for wearing during the day. Jeans, in what _looked_ like his size. A pair of pants that were some sort of tough leather, which he guessed was meant to be a joke, but actually seemed like something he’d wear.

A leather jacket sat toward the bottom of the box, as well as various pairs of gloves.

Finally, there were two t-shirts buried at the bottom. The first one was, of all things, a Captain America t-shirt. It didn’t _say_ “Captain America,” but it had the star, and Bucky stared at it for a long time, before carefully folding it and setting it aside.

Underneath that was a purple one, and when he pulled it out, he stared blankly at the writing.

 

_ANGRY BISEXUAL._

“JARVIS,” Bucky called.

“Yes, sir?”

“What is _bisexual?”_

 

Someone was pounding on his door.

Tony stumbled out of bed (not that he was sleeping anyways, Pepper was away and he had trouble sleeping alone these days) and answered it.

At the door, stood an angry-looking Winter Soldier, clutching a purple t-shirt.

Tony couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

“It’s not _funny,”_ Barnes said. “Tell me, right now. _How did you know?”_

And Tony stopped laughing. “Wait, I was _right?”_

Barnes went pale. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no, wait, this is good,” Tony said. “I just guessed, honestly, because no one follows around a guy like Cap and doesn’t at least stare at his ass _sometimes,_ trust me-..”  
And Barnes looked _pissed._ “Or not!” Tony backpedaled. “Okay, hands off, I get it. Trust me, I’m a taken man, your man’s perfectly safe.”

“He’s not _mine,”_ Barnes hissed. “And if you tell _anyone-…”_

“You’ll what?” Tony couldn’t help but ask. “I hate to break it to you, Barnes, but this isn’t the 40s. We’ve come a long way. Most of the Avengers are actually bisexual, believe it or not.” He held out a hand, ticking them off on his fingers. “Bruce, Clint, me, I think Natasha, I have bets on Cap… And that’s all of us. Three confirmed bisexuals and two on the fence. Ha, on the _fence._ ”

Barnes was just staring at him.

“Oh, and you,” Tony said. “That is, if you _wanna_ join our boyband. It’s pretty cool. We don’t have t-shirts yet, but I’m working on it.”

Barnes still hadn’t moved.   
“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out, and I’m _clearly_ not getting away with this. I’m _sorry.”_ Tony held up his hands in surrender. “Okay? I’m _sorry_ I accidentally triggered your internalized homophobia and outed you to yourself. I’m _sorry.”_

Barnes finally seemed to relax. “You can’t tell Steve.”

“I’m not gonna,” Tony said instantly. “Trust me, no one’s gonna know unless _you_ tell them. I have _nuclear codes,_ okay? I know how to keep a secret. Most people think I don’t, but that’s because they don’t know I have any, because I’m so good at keeping them.”

Barnes slumped down in the doorway. “…Thank you,” he finally said.   
“Wait, what?” Tony said. “You were yelling at me, and now you’re thanking me?”

“It’s funny,” Barnes admitted. “The shirt. It’s _funny.”_

“Yeah, I thought so,” Tony said, slowly, confused.

“I haven’t really found anything funny in a long time.”

Tony shrugged, then smiled. “What can I say? Humor’s what I’m here for.”

There was a pause, and Tony still felt bad about the shirt, so he offered, “Hey, I’m probably not gonna get a lot of sleep. Wanna take a look at some designs for that arm?”

Barnes lit up like a firework, and Tony could _feel_ the forgiveness.

Who said people couldn’t be bought?

 

 

Bucky spent the rest of the night in Tony’s lab, having the man measure his arm and discuss details of a replacement with him.

“Now, we could probably do synth-skin,” Tony said, “But honestly? I don’t want to. This thing is _badass._ You’re gonna be a public figure, if you keep hanging around, and this is a good signature. A cybernetic arm is _awesome.”_ He tapped the metal plating. “We could build you something totally sick out of, like, vibranium. Even though that shit is super hard to get ahold of. You could match Cap’s shield!”

That sounded…nice, but Bucky still didn’t like the idea of a metal arm. “Could we…Could we do, like, _temporary_ skin? Something I could put on when I needed it?”

“Like a sleeve for it?” Tony asked. “Yeah, we can do that. No problem.”

Bucky smiled at Tony. “Thank you.”

“What, this? It’s no problem,” Tony said. “Tech is…literally what I live for. Don’t sweat it.”

Bucky pursed his lips.

“What?” Tony asked.   
“Nothing, just…” Bucky frowned. “I don’t really know what _I_ live for.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped a few months of raids and went straight into the events of Age of Ultron. Whoops.

As dawn was breaking, JARVIS called into Tony’s lab, announcing, “Sirs, Miss Romanov and Mister Barton have awoken.”  
“You have him tell you when people wake up?” Bucky asked.   
“Only if I’m down here,” Tony said. “I don’t like being caught when I haven’t slept. They’re _mean_ about it.”

“Sir, with respect, they simply want you to reach the maximum efficiency you cannot achieve when you skip sleep or meals.”

“I don’t sleep,” Bucky said, defensive. “I don’t really _eat_ either. I’m fine.”

“What, you don’t sleep, at all?” Tony asked. “How’s _that_ work?”

“It’s not that I can’t, or that I don’t need to,” Bucky said. “I just...I can go a long time without it, so I usually don’t.”

Tony stopped in the middle of rechecking the circumference of his fingers. “Barnes,” he said, slowly. “When was the last time you slept?”

Bucky did a quick calculation. At the shelter, he’d never actually slept. Before that, it had been about six days. That made it…

“Ten days?” He guessed.

Tony looked _horrified._ “And the last time you ate?”   
“I had an apple five days ago,” Bucky answered.

“An _apple,”_ Tony muttered. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Bucky asked.

“The living floor,” he said. “It’s time for _group breakfast,_ and you are _eating.”_

 

 

Before they left, Tony paused, giving him a once-over. “Shower, first, I think,” he announced, and steered Bucky towards a large bathroom.

“I don’t have any clothes,” Bucky said.

“I’ll get you some pants,” Tony said. “Do you want another shirt?”

Bucky looked down at the purple thing he was still holding, and very softly, said, “No thanks.”

 

 

Tony’s pants were too small, but only by a tad. Bucky supposed he must have lost weight since leaving Hydra.

Maybe not eating _was_ taking its toll.

The shirt was soft, so it should have been comfortable, but Bucky couldn’t help feeling like it was burning into his skin. A confession he’d never made out loud, branded to him.

“Tell them it’s mine,” Tony said. “If anyone asks, just say it’s mine.”

Bucky nodded, grateful for the out.

He played with his hair for a second, trying to get the wet strands off his neck, before Tony disappeared and reappeared with a hair tie. “Ponytail?” he suggested.

Bucky shrugged and tied his hair up. Looking in the mirror, he could almost believe he was something _other_ than a killing machine for Hydra.

Almost.

 

 

 

Natasha had her feet propped up on the table when they arrived. “Hey, dollface,” she greeted. “Nice pony.”

Bucky shrugged. “Tony’s idea.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Never listen to him. Try a man-bun next time.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Bucky said.

“Hot,” Natasha said. “It’s _hot.”_

“It is not!” Clint called, from the kitchen. “Shit’s ridiculous.”

“Shut up and cook my breakfast,” Natasha yelled back.

“Already done,” Clint said, coming out with a plate covered in pancakes and setting it on the table. “Though, with two super-soldiers, I should probably rack up a few more. Is Thor coming?”

“Probs not,” Tony said. “No unusual weather patterns, so I doubt he’s in the area.”

“Thor,” Bucky said slowly, trying to place the name.   
“Norse god,” Tony said. “Actual alien. Avenger. Cool guy, if you don’t piss him off. A little gay for his adopted brother.”

“Gross, Tony,” Natasha said. “Is everything sexual to you?”

“You fuck more people than he does,” Clint said. “Which is to say, more than one. He’s _domesticated.”_

“I dunno,” Natasha said. “It looks like he and Barnes might have had some fun.”

Bucky blushed furiously immediately. “No! No, nothing happened. We were in the _lab.”_

“You can fuck in the lab,” Natasha said. “He’d probably like it.”

“I’m _taken,”_ Tony said. “Pepper doesn’t share.” He winked at Bucky. “Not that I wouldn’t be all over that, believe me.”

“Are we talking about fucking Barnes?” Clint asked. “Cause I’m down.”

“TMI, Barton,” Tony said. “TM-Fucking-I.”

“Nah, for real,” he pointed at Bucky’s shirt, the first call-out of the day. “Nice shirt. You down?”

“Um,” Bucky muttered. “Down for what?”

“JARVIS, turn down for what?” Tony called, which cued a very obnoxious song, which Natasha immediately demanded be shut off.

“Me and Nat are big fans of casual sex,” Clint said. “Feel free to hop in at any point. Right, Nat?”

Natasha shrugged. “If you want.”

Bucky ran a hand down his face. “I’m being _propositioned,”_ he groaned.   
“You’re what?”

Bucky turned to see Bruce heading into the kitchen, walking toward the coffee pot to fix himself a cup. “Um.”

“Oh, did they ask you to sleep with them?” Bruce asked. “They ask everybody, don’t take it personally.”   
“Not _everybody_ ,” Clint protested. “I’ve never asked Tony.”

“I’m offended by that, by the way,” Tony chimed in.

Bucky was pretty sure he had passed out, and this was all a weird fever-dream. Bruce appeared at his side, pressing a coffee mug into his hands. “Drink this, it makes them more tolerable.”

Bucky obeyed without thinking, only to choke on the taste. “What is _that?”_

“Coffee,” Bruce said.

“That is _not_ coffee,” Bucky said. “Coffee is bitter water. This tastes _completely different.”_

“Because it’s _good_ coffee,” Tony said. “Not whatever ration crap you used to drink.”

Bucky sipped it tentatively. “I think I like it.”

“Good,” Bruce said. “Because there comes a point where a man needs either religion or coffee, and this is a lot easier to stick with.”

“I find both are helpful,” Steve’s voice came, as the Captain stepped into the room. “Is everyone already up? That’s weird.”

“Tony didn’t sleep!” Natasha accused.

“Natasha cheats at cards,” Tony shot back, from where he was looking through the fridge.

Steve had a stern look on his face. “Tony, you know that’s not good for you. You get paranoid when you don’t sleep.”

“The ‘Lizards Run The Government’ thing was a _meme,_ not a serious theory, for the _last time-…”_

Clint was suddenly in front of him, pressing a plate into his hands. “Eat something,” he said, and vanished again.

Bucky looked blankly at the plate, and then Natasha seemed to take pity on him, sliding the pancake plate toward him. “Take some. They’re good.”

Bucky hesitantly took the fork resting on the side of the plate and used it to pull a few pancakes onto his own plate. Then Natasha handed him a bottle of syrup, declaring it “pancakes’ saving grace,” and went back to eating her own food.

The first bite was…odd. Pleasant, sort of, but weird.

However, Bucky had very little time to process the flavor, before his stomach _demanded_ more, and he tucked in with fervor.

“What are you _wearing?”_

Bucky froze mid-bite, at Steve’s question.

He’d forgotten about the shirt.

“It’s mine,” Tony said immediately, but Bucky steeled himself.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky said. “Tony gave it to me. It’s _mine.”_

Steve blinked, and the whole kitchen went silent. “…Okay,” Steve finally said.

And then the conversation resumed, as though nothing happened.

Nerves shot, Bucky pushed the pancakes away, and slinked out of the room.

He was going to be sick.

 

 

Tony found slipped out of the room the second he saw Barnes leave, following the man (or, more, JARVIS’s directions as to where the man went) to find him in a bathroom down the hall, throwing up.

“Yeah, maybe pancakes weren’t the best first meal,” Tony drawled.

“Shut up,” Barnes groaned.

Tony stepped forward, reaching down and carefully starting to rub Barnes’ back. It was a little more delicate a gesture than he was used to but, hey, he could be a good friend.

“Maybe we should work up to real food,” Tony mused. “An IV, maybe, to get your system used to nutrients?”

Barnes tensed under his hand. “No needles.”

“Alright, never mind, then. Liquids, maybe. Ever had a protein shake?”

Barnes stayed quiet for a second, then whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? I’m doing a lot of things.”

“Being _nice,”_ Barnes asked, turning to look at him. “I’m not a person, I’m an asset, but you’re treating me-…”

“Like a friend,” Tony said. “Because you _are_ a friend, at least of Cap’s, and I like him well enough to trust his judgement. So I’m trusting you. And, you know, not everyone talks about my tech with words like _revolutionary_ once they actually meet me. So you’re a novelty.”

That was the _wrong_ thing to say, apparently, because Barnes shoved his hand away. “I’m not some toy.”

If Tony’d had a dime for every time he’d heard _that._ He wasn’t even fucking Barnes, though, so it was different. “Not treating you like one,” Tony said. “Or, maybe I am, but not on _purpose._ I like taking care of people, okay, and you need it. So shut up and let me be nice. It’ll wear off eventually and Asshole Tony will be back full swing. I promise.”

Barnes eyed him for a second, and then relaxed. “If you’re gonna stay,” he finally said. “Keep my hair out of my face.”

And then he went back to throwing up.

 

 

“JARVIS, can I get a visual on Barnes and Stark?” Natasha asked.

They were still in the kitchen, but everyone had stopped doing anything the second Tony had left.

“Certainly, ma’am,” JARVIS replied. “Neither man requested privacy, though I believe it was simply a slip, rather than an invitation.”   
“Don’t try to guilt me, roboman,” Natasha said. “Just play the clips.”

A video appeared on the wall, of Bucky crouched over a toilet, Tony holding his hair as he threw up.

“Gross,” Clint announced.

“Yeah, vomit’s not really what I wanted to see,” Natasha agreed.

“No, I meant, Tony being _nice._ It’s disgusting.”

Natasha balled up a napkin and threw it at him. He caught it out of the air. “Show off,” she muttered. He blew a kiss back.

“What’s Stark doing?” Steve asked.   
“Uh, it looks like he’s keeping Barnes’ hair from getting nasty. I don’t see why they didn’t just tuck it all into the ponytail, but hey, let him try and help.”  
“No, I mean,” Steve waved a hand at the screen. “What’s his angle, here? What’s he getting out of this?”

“Really, Rogers?” Natasha asked. “You haven’t picked up on Tony’s mother-hen complex?”

“Explain,” Steve said.   
“Christ,” Natasha muttered. “Listen. Tony _likes_ to baby people. It’s why he lets us live here, it’s why he buys us anything we even think about wanting, it’s why he does basically everything. Barnes is basically a prime target for his hovering. He’s not gonna pass that up.”

“Or he could just actually give a damn,” Bruce suggested. “He’s not _awful,_ guys, and Barnes doesn’t seem to be a bad guy. Tony could just be empathizing.”

There was silence.

“Nah,” Clint piped in. “Nat’s theory makes more sense.”

“Mine usually do,” she said. “Sorry, Banner.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, going back to his coffee.

In the video, Bucky finally stopped being sick, and wiped at his mouth, standing. Tony pushed up after him, and Bucky thanked him quietly before requesting to head back to his room and sleep some. Tony said it was a good idea, and both men left the bathroom.

“Video off, JARVIS,” Natasha said.

The feed cut out.

 

 

Bucky laid down in his room – he’d chosen the one he’d found the box in – and stared at the ceiling.   
The bed was soft, and Bucky didn’t know what to do about it. There was no _support,_ no resistance. It felt like a cloud. No _substance._

Huffing in frustration, he got up, and laid down on the floor instead.

 _Much_ better.

“JARVIS,” he asked the room. “Can you wake me up if anyone gets on this floor?”   
“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS replied.

Comforted, Bucky drifted for the first time in over a week.

 

 

Bucky was awoken by an _alarm._

He panicked instantly, reaching for a gun before remembering he didn’t have one anymore. He pulled a knife instead, getting to his feet. “JARVIS, what’s going on?”

“The Avengers are being called,” JARVIS informed him. “Recon has located Loki’s scepter.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Bucky called. He was getting _really_ sick of saying that.

“Playing footage,” JARVIS announced, and then a video was on the wall, showing a man with long black hair and weird clothing attacking people with some kind of bayoneted baton, which shot blue energy.

“That thing?” Bucky called. “They’ve been looking for it?”

“Since the Battle of New York,” JARVIS confirmed. “Our intelligence network has located the Hydra base it’s being kept at.”

_Hydra._

Bucky straightened. “I want to come.”

“Mister Barnes, I assure you, Mister Stark and the Avengers are perfectly equipped to handle-…”

“I want to _go,”_ Bucky insisted. “Where are they meeting?”

There was a pause. “They are gathering on the living floor.”

Bucky reached for his box of clothes, pulling his shirt off his head and exchanging it for a different one, the first one he grabbed. Over that he pulled on the leather jacket and a pair of gloves, and he changed into the leather pants.

Then he put on his combat boots, headed for the elevator, and on the way up, re-did his ponytail.

He was going to _fight._

The Avengers were doing what Bucky assumed passed as a debrief, but it mostly sounded like bickering.

Natasha saw him first, and cleared her throat, and the room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at him.

“Asset reporting,” he said, before thinking better of it. “ _Sargent Barnes_ reporting.”

Steve smiled, but looked a little sad, anyway. “Buck, you don’t have to come. This is our fight, and you said you didn’t wanna join the Avengers – no one’s gonna make you come with us.”   
“No one _could,”_ Bucky said. “But this is Hydra. I don’t give a damn about the scepter. I wanna wipe those bastards off the map. Besides, that base is probably full of data on the Winter Soldier project. I _need_ to go.”

“We could get that for you,” Steve said.

“Let him come, Rogers,” Natasha cut in. “If he wants to fight, let him fight. Besides-…” she grinned. “He’s gonna have to be introduced to the media eventually. May as well make it a good show.”

“Alright, fine,” Steve sighed. He looked Bucky over. “Please tell me that jacket isn’t hiding an _Angry Bisexual_ t-shirt.”

Bucky snorted. “Nope. Much worse.” He pulled the jacket open to reveal his _Captain America_ star.

Steve groaned.

Tony, on the other hand, looked ecstatic. “I’ve _got_ to buy you more shirts. I didn’t think you’d actually wear them.”

Bucky shrugged. “For Steve to make that face? It’s worth it.”

Natasha clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Well, Barnes,” she said. “Let’s go introduce Hydra to the new-and-improved _Winter Soldier.”_

 

Thor was waiting for them on the roof, where he barely acknowledged Bucky, which was an attitude the ex-Hydra asset returned. They had other things on their minds.

They took a quinjet there, and parked it at the edge of the woods. Then they stopped and took over a recon patrol’s vehicle, but not before the team managed to call in a distress alarm.

“Shit,” Tony swore. “We better move fast.” 

Steve rode up on a motorcycle – a pretty little thing, Bucky couldn’t help but notice, one he’d love to try out – and nodded at them, before barking out quick orders.

“Bucky,” he called. “We’re gonna be calling you the _Winter Soldier_ over the comms, okay, unless you’d rather be called something else?”  
“Call me whatever,” Bucky said. “Just let me punch a few Hydra assholes out.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tony called, flying up. “Last one to the actual base is a square.”

“How are we geometric shapes?” Thor asked over his comm.

“Let me explain slang to you later, Blondie. Big guy, you ready to play?”

Bucky didn’t know who he was talking to, but everyone else seemed to – especially Bruce, who replied, “Just give me a second to get clear.”

And then Banner was taking off into the woods, and dropping to his knees.

He stepped forward to go help, but Natasha caught his arm, holding him back. “Trust me,” she said. “You don’t wanna go near that.”

Oh. Bruce was _shifting._

Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, Banner was gone, and in his place stood the Hulk.

“Yikes,” Bucky said. “That can’t feel good.”

The Hulk’s head snapped around, and he gave a wide, childish grin.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky called up. “Ready to kick ass?”

The Hulk let out a loud, joyful sound.   
“Yeah, me too,” he said. “Let’s get going. Steve?”

“Codenames only, Winter,” Natasha snapped.

 _Handler input accepted._ Bucky shook away the thought the second it popped in. “Can do, Widow.”

Steve – no, _Captain America –_ went back to giving out orders, and then they were taking off, into the woods.

He was in the recon vehicle with Natasha and Clint. Clint stood up in the middle, through the opening in the roof, and started firing arrows at the Hydra assholes that came out to stop them, while Natasha drove, and Bucky…

Bucky just kind of sat there.

“Does anyone have a _gun?”_ he asked.

Natasha pulled a hand off the wheel, pointing to the center console of the vehicle. “Check in that.”

Bucky leaned forward, digging through it. Sure enough, there was a handgun inside. Small little thing, pathetic really, but with Hydra tech it was bound to pack a punch. He checked it to make sure it was loaded, counting bullets.

_15 rounds._

Well. Better make ‘em count.

They rode into the base, through the resistance, with minimal issue. Watching the Avengers take out Hydra goon after Hydra goon was…pretty impressive, actually.

One Hydra agent got a hold of the vehicle, and Widow went to kick them, but they didn’t budge.

Bucky weighed his options, then fired a single round into his skull.

_14 rounds._

“Non-lethal, soldier!” The Captain’s voice came over the comm. “We want to take as many in as possible.”

“With due respect, Cap,” Iron Man’s voice came, “I’m pretty sure we don’t need 200 POWs.”

“Two _hundred?”_ Bucky called. “Hydra doesn’t keep bases that secure. Even _my_ bases weren’t that protected. They’re keeping something here.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice called. “A weapon of mass destruction powered by the same energy as the Tesseract.”

“Probably more than _that,”_ Bucky insisted. “No way they’d lock it down this hard for one weapon.”

“We’ll scope it out,” Steve promised. “Soldier, what do you know about the security in the actual building?”  
“Shields, probably, if they’re on full lockdown,” Bucky called back. “T- Iron Man, test it, will you? There should be a force field over the whole complex.”

Tony flew right into it, bouncing off like a fly. “Shit!” he called.

“Language,” Steve immediately scolded. “JARVIS, what’s the view from upstairs?”

“There is an energy field cloaking the facility, well beyond the tech of any Hydra base we’ve taken.”

“It’s the scepter,” Thor called. “It must be powering the defenses. At long last.”

Natasha was taking out some guards on one of the posts. “At long last is lasting a little long, boys,” she sassed, and then fired _three_ rounds into one guard.

“Don’t waste ammo,” Bucky scolded. “I’ve only got fourteen bullets.”

“I think we lost the element of surprise,” Clint observed, shooting an arrow into a throng of Hydra guards which proceeded to _explode._

“Wait a second,” Tony said, and Bucky expected something clever. Instead, he said, “No one else is gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said ‘ _language’_?”

“I _know,”_ Steve sighed. “It just sort of slipped out.”

And then he _threw his motorcycle_ into a car.

“Hey!” Bucky called. “I wanted to ride that.”

“Joke’s too easy,” Tony said instantly.

“Not for me,” Clint said. “You sure that’s _all_ you wanna ride?”

“I don’t get the joke,” Bucky admitted. “Explain it to me later.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Boys, keep your pants on,” Natasha called. “Barnes, could use some help?”

“On my way.”

 

 

“Sir, the city is taking fire,” JARVIS informed Tony, which in turn, was transferred over the comms.

“Well, we know Struker’s not gonna worry about civilian casualties,” Tony muttered. “Send in the Iron Legion.”

Bucky looked up at what sounded like small planes, only to see multiple Iron Man suits flying over the base, toward the city. “What’s that?”

“Iron Legion,” Tony repeated. “They’re protectrons. They’re gonna look after the civilians.”

“You sure that’s smart?” Bucky said. “The people are probably scared. That may not go over well.”

There was a pause. “They’re throwing things at my bots. Why are they throwing things at my bots?”

“Because they’re _scared,”_ Bucky insisted.

“Guys,” Clint said. “I’m gonna turn my aids up.”   
“Your what?” Bucky questioned.

“Hearing aids,” Natasha explained. “He’s about 90% deaf. It means keep quiet.”

There was silence over the comms.

And then Clint was crying out in pain.

“Clint!” Natasha cried, breaking the _codenames_ rule.

“We have an enhancement field,” Steve called.

“Clint’s _hit,”_ Natasha said over the comms. “Somebody wanna deal with that bunker?”

The Hulk immediately moved to take it out.

“Thank you,” Natasha said, and went back to binding Clint’s side.

Bucky ran over to her, only to be stopped on the way by a Hydra guard.

“You,” the guard said. “You’re not one of theirs.”

“Not one of yours, either,” Bucky said, and shot him.

_13 rounds._

“Stark,” Steve called over the comms, because apparently ‘codenames only’ was blown. “We really need to get inside.”

“I’m closing in,” Tony assured them, before beginning to talk to JARVIS, which Bucky tuned out. A moment later, he called, “Drawbridge is down, people.”

Steve and Thor were talking about the enhancement thing, whatever _that_ was, but Bucky was focused on getting to Nat’s side.

“Clint’s hit pretty bad, guys,” Natasha said. “We’re gonna need Evac.”

Thor volunteered to take him back to the jet, which eased Bucky’s mind a little. “Find the scepter,” he called.

“And for gosh sake,” Tony said. “Watch your language!”

Steve sighed over the comms. “That’s not going away any time soon.”

“Yeah, no,” Bucky agreed.

 

 

Tony got into the building, calling that he’d gotten to the computers, and Nat called that they were “locked down.”

Steve had her calm Bruce down, which Bucky found fascinating.

Steve found Struker, and was talking to them when-…

“We have a second enhanced,” Steve called. “Female. Do _not_ engage.”

A little more talk.

“Thor, I’ve got eyes on the prize.”

Bucky straightened. The scepter was found. Mission success.

If only he didn’t speak to soon.

 

 

On the ride back, Bucky sat next to Banner. “That was _amazing.”_

“I wouldn’t call it _that,”_ Bruce sighed. “It’s a train wreck.”

“I’ve seen train wrecks. Train wrecks can’t be calmed down by a pretty redhead.”

Bruce flushed. “I-It’s not-… She…”

Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t accusing you of anything. Just pointing out an observation.”

Natasha made her way over, so he cleared out. Whatever was going on _there,_ he wasn’t getting involved.

 

 

Tony, Thor, and Steve were apparently party-planning when he caught them, but Thor paused to smile at Bucky. “Master Barnes,” he greeted.

“Oh, yikes, drop the _master,”_ Bucky said. “’Bucky’ works.”

“ _Bucky_ , then,” Thor tried. “We have not met. You are a fighting companion of Captain Rogers, correct?”   
“Uh, sort of,” Bucky said. “I don’t actually…remember, much.”

Thor nodded. “I was informed of your history, briefly. My condolences.”

“My congrats,” Bucky returned. “I know this thing,” he gestured to the scepter, “was important to you. Your brother’s or something, right?”

“Adopted brother,” Tony filled in. “Actually a _different_ kind of alien with a whole bunch of daddy issues.”   
Thor made a slight face at that. “Loki. He is… _was…_ troubled.”

“Was?”

“He died,” Thor said. “In redeeming himself. In protecting me.”

Yikes. “Sorry.”

“Today is not the day for sorrow,” Thor replied. “Today is a day for celebration, for hopefully, your world will be safe again.”

Yeah, right.

Like their world was _ever_ safe.

 

 

Steve was taken off by Hill and debrief on who the hell the “enhanced” were, while Bucky trailed after Tony and Bruce on the way to the lab floor.

Partially because he _loved_ the lab floor. Partially because that’s where Clint and Natasha were going.

 

 

“How’s he doing?” Bruce asked, after Tony went to check on Clint.

“Unfortunately,” Tony said, and Bucky braced himself. “He’s still Barton.”

“That’s terrible,” Bruce replied dryly, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

At least one his new friends were all okay.

 

 

Bucky was sitting in the corner of the lab, hiding from all the strange doctors, when Tony entered with Bruce. The two were whispering about something, and Bucky couldn’t help but overhear.

“This could be the key to creating Ultron,” Tony whispered, and Bucky’s blood ran cold.

They were talking about human experiments, and suddenly Tony was proposing a project? _It better not be what it sounds like_ , he thought.

“What,” he spoke up, making both scientists jump. “The _fuck._ Is Ultron?”

Bruce looked apologetic. “A _fantasy,_ nothing more.”

“An ultimate peace-keeping machine,” Tony answered. “A fully self-aware AI that can span the globe, fighting crime. No need for Avengers, no need for even police. Peace in our time.”

“That sounds _awful,”_ Bucky said, immediately.

“What do you mean?” Tony demanded. “It sounds _perfect.”_

“Yes, which makes it _awful,”_ Bucky said. “I was supposed to be the ultimate tool of freedom, instead I was a killing machine. Now you wanna do that, but not give it a human consciousness. Just a robo-brain. No offense, JARVIS.”   
“None taken, sir.”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Bucky said. “People can be manipulated; computers can be hacked. There is no such thing as a utopia, Tony, and trying to create one has only ever ended in failure.”

“He has a point,” Bruce said. “The chances of this working-… They’re slim, Tony, and that’s being generous.”

“They’re _nonexistent,”_ Bucky said. “But let’s pretend, for a second, that it does work. That no one can mess up. That no one can step a toe out of line. What then? What becomes of the world?”

“It’s safe,” Tony answered. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“In a world where no one can make a mistake, no one can _learn.”_

“Crime isn’t a _mistake_. Crime is…crime.”

“Well then,” Bucky said, holding out his arms. “Gun me down.”

“What?” Tony demanded.

“Do you know how many people I’ve killed?”

“You were brainwashed, that doesn’t-…”   
“Yes, Tony, I was _brainwashed,”_ he confirmed. “But so are most people doing bad. Very few people are evil on purpose. They all believe they’re doing the right thing. Hydra honestly thinks of themselves as the good guys. And you wanna destroy anyone who doesn’t agree with _your_ sense of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’? That’s what _Hydra_ did.”

“This is nothing like Hydra,” Tony said.

“Yes, it is,” Bucky said. “And if you can’t see that, I’m not sticking around to watch you destroy the planet.”

And Bucky left the room.

 

 

They didn’t talk for the next day. When they saw each other next, all Tony said was, “I’m planning a party tomorrow night. Wanna come?”

Bucky shrugged. “May as well.”

And that was it.

 

 

There was a suit in his closet the next morning.

“JARVIS, I told you to wake me when someone came by,” Bucky whined. “Who put this here?”   
“One of Mister Stark’s unmanned suits,” JARVIS replied. “I assumed you only meant to be alerted to human presences. I apologize.”

“You’re forgiven,” Bucky reluctantly sighed. “Is this…is this _tailored?”_

“I do routine scans of all bodies in the tower, to check for everything from injury to weaponry,” JARVIS informed him. “It was a simple matter to take your measurements.”

The suit fit like a dream, but Bucky was uneasy. “Where do I put my knives?”   
“There are inseam pockets, if you look closely,” JARVIS told him. “You may hide weaponry there. You may also carry a holstered pistol, if you so desire.”

Bucky _did_ desire, so he found the gun he’d brought back from the Hydra raid – _still 13 rounds_ – and holstered it. He then hid a total of eleven knives on his person.

“With respect, sir, I doubt you will be attacked at a party,” JARVIS said.

“With respect, JARVIS,” Bucky returned. “Shove off.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

The party was in full swing by the time Bucky got there.

The music was light and cheery, and there were people _everywhere._

The first familiar face he saw was Tony’s, standing near the bar (or, _one of the bars,_ as there were several), and he immediately headed in the opposite direction.

Natasha was talking to Bruce, so he steered clear of them, too.

Then, he spotted a familiar face on one of the couches. “Clint,” he breathed, relieved. “I thought it’d take me all night to find someone I knew. I didn’t know they’d let you out of the lab.”

Clint shrugged. “I’m all better. They have that machine, that can 3D print skin? A few minutes in there and I was all stitched up.”

Bucky thought about that. “Can it print bone?”

Clint seemed to follow his train of thought. “I don’t think it’s advanced enough for a whole arm. Sorry, buddy.”

Bucky sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

Clint held up his drink. “Speaking of shots, come take some with me.”   
“I can’t get drunk,” Bucky said. “Sorry. Serum side effect.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Clint said. “There are other ways to have fun.”

Then he wagged his eyebrows.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask.

“Doing what?”

“Hitting on me.”

Clint pursed his lips. “Does it make you uncomfortable? I can stop.”  
“No, I just don’t get it,” Bucky said.

“Dude,” Clint waved a hand at him. “Have you _seen_ you? You’re gorgeous. I’m deaf, not blind.”

Bucky shifted. He’d never really thought of himself as _attractive._ His appearance served a function. He knew, distantly, that his looks were passable, due to honeypot missions. But… _gorgeous_?

“Don’t get me wrong, here,” Clint said. “I don’t wanna sweep you off your feet or anything. I’d be totally down for sex, but that’s about all I’ve got in me. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Bucky found himself saying, before blushing furiously. “I mean-…”

“No, no, no take-backs,” Clint said. “You just said you’d fuck me. You don’t even have to follow through, I’m happy with just the confirmation that I’m damn pretty.”

“I…I would,” Bucky said carefully. “Follow through. I mean. If you really wanted?”

“Um, hell yeah,” Clint said. “Now, important question: just you and me, or Nat, too?”

Bucky blushed harder.

“I’m gonna take that as a _Nat, too.”_ Clint said. “Right?”

Bucky had no words, but he nodded.

Clint winked. “I’ll catch her up on the plan. See you in a minute.”

And he wandered off, leaving Bucky wishing he could sink into the floor.

 

 

Clint leaned up to Natasha, where she stood at the bar, and whispered something in her ear that made her grin.

Steve watched the exchange curiously. Even more curiously when Clint dragged her over to _Bucky,_ of all people, and they dragged Bucky out of the room quietly while no one was paying attention.

No one except Bruce and Steve, of course.   
“ _No_ ,” Bruce said. “Don’t tell me-…”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I think that just happened.”

Bruce laughed and took a drink, but Steve didn’t really find it funny.

He actually found it…kind of irritating.

Curious.

 

*

 

“When was your last kiss, Barnes?” Natasha asked, when they reached her and Clint’s floor.

“Um,” he muttered. “I don’t know? The 70s, probably.”

“Christ,” Clint said. “What year, specifically? I wanna know if I was born yet.”

“You were born in ’71,” Natasha said. “You were almost definitely born.”

Bucky wrinkled up his nose. “Yikes. That’s weird to think about. You guys are so much younger than me, and older at the same time.”

“How old _are_ you, anyway?” Clint asked.

“Twenty-seven,” Bucky said. “Or ninety-seven. Take your pick.”

“Those both make me uncomfortable,” Clint admitted. “No more age talk. Who you want to pop your 2000s kissing cherry? Me or Nat?”

“Well,” Bucky said. “You asked first.”

Clint grinned, and snaked a hand around to the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

Bucky let Clint lead, for a second, before experience he’d forgotten kicked in and he was shoving Clint against the wall, kissing back _hard._

“That’s the spirit,” Natasha drawled, slipping up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, before kissing lightly at his neck.

Clint ran his hands up Bucky’s sides, underneath his shirt, and brushed against his nipples lightly. In exchange, Bucky reached behind Clint and grabbed his ass, which made the man groan into the kiss.

Inspired, Bucky lifted Clint, and the he obligingly wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist.   
“I guess that settles who bottoms,” Natasha quipped. Clint flipped her off before wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders.

Clint eventually broke the kiss with Bucky, and tipped his head to the side, locking lips with Nat instead. She, in the meantime, reached around both of them to put her hands over Bucky’s on Clint’s ass and rock the two men together.

Both men moaned at the grinding. “Bed,” Bucky breathed.

“My room is closer,” Clint said, breaking away from Natasha. “Lead the way, Nat.”

 

 

Natasha stripped immediately upon entering the room, setting her clothes neatly to the side.

“What, afraid of wrinkles?” Clint teased, pulling his shirt off.

“We do have to go back into the party at some point,” she pointed out.

Clint thought about that, before carefully setting his clothes next to hers.

Bucky, however, couldn’t have cared less, and just dropped his on the floor.

Natasha laid down on the bed on her back, then curled a finger at them. “Come get me, boys.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Clint said, situating himself between her legs.

Bucky crawled up behind them, taking Clint’s hips into his hands. “Lemme guess: I fuck you, you fuck her?”

“Let’s switch places, actually. You deserve to be spoiled for a night, and the middle is the best place to be.”

So Bucky and Clint swapped places.

Clint pushed on Bucky’s back, getting his ass into the air. “I’m gonna prep you, so that this doesn’t hurt, because it’s apparently been decades since you were even _kissed.”_  

He then fumbled around in a drawer until he was taking out some kind of squeeze bottle, and squirting clear liquid onto his hand, running it over his fingers.

Apparently deeming them suitable for the task, he reached forward, carefully sliding a finger into Bucky.

Bucky grunted at the feeling. He was used to discomfort, even pain, but this was just…weird. Before he could dwell on it, though, he was distracted by Natasha taking him into her mouth.

“Holy _shit,”_ Bucky breathed, as Clint rubbed him from the inside and Natasha massaged him with her tongue. “Oooh my _God.”_

“Good to know I’m up to snuff,” Clint teased, adding another finger.

The feeling was actually less weird now and more _good,_ as Bucky was starting to remember what it could be like. Distantly he remembered the pressure point in him that could feel so good, and he responded to the memory by pressing back against Clint’s fingers, trying to get him to press there.

It worked.

“Shit,” Bucky swore, and pushed Natasha’s forehead lightly. “I need you to stop. I’m gonna be done too soon if you _both_ keep this up.”

“Clint takes priority, huh?” she said, pulling off him, but she was laughing. “I understand completely.”

Clint added a third finger, and Bucky let out a string of curses.

Nat laughed again. “You’re such a _bottom,_ Barnes.”

“I don’t – _shit –_ know what that means.”

“It means you like it up the ass,” Clint deadpanned. “Which you’re about to get.”  
Bucky moaned as the fingers left him and were quickly replaced by something much, _much_ better.

“My turn?” Natasha asked, before spreading her legs and guiding Bucky into her.

Bucky was in _heaven._

Clint began rocking his hips, grinding into Bucky and then pulling back, over and over. This, in turn, rocked Bucky into Natasha, who gripped at his shoulders in pleasure.

They set a brutal pace, the three of them moving in tandem.

Soon, Clint was cursing into Bucky’s shoulders. “I hope you guys are close,” he said, “Because _I am.”_

“Go ahead and come, my man,” Natasha said. “I’m right behind you.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t already,” Bucky admitted.

Within seconds, Clint was coming into Bucky’s ass, and then Nat was clenching down on Bucky, and Bucky was coming into her.

He flopped down next to her, before realizing that coming _in_ her probably didn’t look good, and immediately jumping to reassure her. “I’m sterile.”

“What?” she asked, looking at him with concern.

“Hydra. During my first honeypot, they sterilized me. You’re not at any risk.”

Natasha’s face softened. “Barnes – _Bucky._ I wasn’t worried. Me too, actually.”

“Really?” Bucky question. “That…that’s shitty. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I don’t plan on settling down anyway.”

Clint laid down behind Bucky, swinging an arm around his waist. “Enough gloomy talk, you’re ruining my afterglow.”

“That _was_ pretty nice.”

Clint and Natasha both laughed. “You’re welcome to a repeat, anytime,” Clint offered.

“I may take you up on that,” Bucky said. “Now…do we really have to go back to the party?”

Natasha sighed. “The party’s probably over, but we should head upstairs to make sure.”

And then her and Clint were climbing out of bed and getting dressed.

“Can I take a second?” Bucky asked. “I’ll meet you up there in a minute, I just need to-…”

“Go ahead,” Clint said. “But we’re totally gonna drink up all the booze while you’re gone.”

Bucky laughed. “Feel free.”

“Also, I’m stealing your jacket,” Clint said, picking it off the floor.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just make sure you give it back later. Can’t go flaunting my arm all over town.”

“I dunno,” Natasha said. “I kind of like it.”

 

*

 

Clint and Natasha wandered back into the room just as the Avengers had settled into the couches, being the only ones left in the tower.

“Welcome back, lovebirds,” Tony called. And then, “Is that _Barnes’_ jacket?”

Clint grinned. “Spoils of war.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re calling it,” Tony sassed. He then waved to the floor. “We took all the seats, so you get to sit down at the kiddie table.”

Clint sat at the floor without protest. Natasha, however, just dragged over another armchair.

They all chatted for a bit, friendly discussion, when somehow the conversation turned to Mjolnir.

“Yeah, but it’s a _trick_ ,” Clint was saying.

“Oh, it’s much more than that,” Thor laughed.

Clint mocked the voice of Odin. “ _And whoever shall be worthy shall holdeth the power_. Grow up, it’s a trick.”

Thor laughed harder, waving at the hammer. “Be my guest.”  
Everyone stopped to stare at Clint. “What, seriously?”

Thor nodded.

“Okay. Okay, fine,” Clint got up, heading over to the hammer.

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week,” Tony said. “We won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up.”

Natasha opened her mouth to make a joke, and then shut it. _Better not,_ seemed to be her thought process.

“I’ve seen this before.” And he tried to pick it up.

And tried.

And…nothing.

Clint laughed. “How’d you do it?”

“Strong, silent judgement,” Tony announced.

“Please, Stark,” Clint invited. “By all means.”

Tony got up, swaggering over. “Never one to shrink from an honest challenge,” he stated. “It’s _physics_.”

“Physics, yeah,” Rhodey snorted.

“So, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Thor agreed. “Yes, of course.”

“I will be reinstituting _prima nocta,”_ Tony joked. And then _he_ tried to lift it.

A beat.

“Be right back.”

And he came back with the arm of Iron Man, which set everyone to laughing.

Soon, everyone, one-by-one, was trying to lift it. Cap got it to wiggle a bit, but that was as far as anyone got. Maria didn’t even _try,_ which was lame.

But just as everyone had given up, and they were trying to goad Natasha into trying, Bucky wandered into the room.

Clint got a great idea. “Hey, Barnes,” he called. Bucky raised an eyebrow, sauntering over.

“Gonna give me my jacket back?”

Clint grinned. “If you bring me that,” and he pointed at the hammer.

Bucky just stared. “You’re _right next to it.”_

“So are you,” he said, then batted his eyelashes. “ _Please?”_

Everyone was watching now, and Bucky felt uneasy, so he just went with it. “If you promise to never make _that_ face again? Sure.”

And he picked it up.

“No fucking way,” Tony shouted.

Everyone was laughing, and Bucky paused in the middle of handing it to Clint. “What?” He looked down at it. “Is it supposed to be heavy…?”

Thor looked _stricken,_ but everyone else appeared to be having a great time.

“Is he in charge now?” Tony asked. “Seriously, is he _Prince Bucky?”_

“It doesn’t work like that,” Thor said. “But…I supposed if wished, he would be recognized as an authority on Asgard.”

Bucky frowned, looking at Clint, who was staring at him in awe. “What’s going on?”

“That hammer is _rigged_ ,” Clint said. “No one but Thor can pick it up. How’d you do it?”

“I…don’t know? I just picked it up.” Bucky looked down at it. “It’s balanced, not really heavy. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

“It’s magic,” Thor said. “Only the worthy can lift it.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Bruce theorized. “All of us were _trying_ to be worthy, of power and glory. He just wanted to do what Clint asked.”

“…Power and glory?” Bucky asked weakly. Before he could even process that fully, the hammer seemed to weigh thousands of tons, and it dropped quickly to the floor. “Shit!”

“Bruce is right again,” Natasha drawled.

Tony laughed. “Bucky’s not worthy, he’s just whipped.”

“Hey, one totally awesome threesome does not a relationship make,” Clint protested.

Bucky flushed. “ _Clint.”_

“What? It’s not like they didn’t know it happened. Where else could we have been?”

Hill seemed to want to change the subject, because she yelled, “Steve! Barnes said a curse word.”

Steve huffed out an irate breath, looking to Tony. “Did you tell _everyone_ about that?”

“Are we gonna ignore that Barnes could totally rule Asgard?” Tony deflected. “Prima nocta, by the way, Barnes. _Prima nocta.”_

“I don’t know what that-…”

And then a weird reverb filled the air, cutting off all other noise.

“Shit,” Clint swore. “My hearing aids did _not_ like that.”

“What _was_ that?” Steve asked.

But a noise was coming from the side of the room, and they all looked over to see a robot stumbling into the room.

Bucky’s veins turned to ice, and before the other even put it together, he knew.

This was _Ultron._

“You didn’t,” he whispered. “Tony, you _didn’t.”_

“Didn’t what?” Steve asked. “What’s happening?”

And then the robot was talking. “You’re all killers,” it accused.

Tony was whispering to his StarkPad, trying to get JARVIS to reboot. The AI didn’t answer.

“Had to kill the other guy…He was a good guy,” the robot declared.

“You killed someone?” Steve demanded.   
“Wouldn’t have been my first call,” the robot stated. And then he played a recording of Tony, declaring the purpose of Ultron to Bucky.

Bucky stood, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “Ultron,” he called. “You were built for peace. Do _not_ declare a war.”

“But how can there be peace, when the Avengers exist?” Ultron said. “You’re killers, all of you. _Especially_ you. The Winter Soldier. You didn’t even want me to be made, fighting is so ingrained into you.”

He then played the recording of Bucky protesting his creation.

Steve looked at him sharply. “You knew this would happen?”

“I didn’t think Tony would _do_ it,” Bucky hissed.

“I’m on a mission,” Ultron declared.

“What mission?” Hill asked.

Ultron stared them down with cold, robot eyes. “Peace in our time.”

And then the whole world went to hell.

 

 

Bucky helped them fight, but it was useless.

Ultron was broken, but he was _singing._

“I had strings, but now I’m free,” he sang. “There are no strings on me.”

And suddenly, Bucky could _relate._

“He’s escaping,” Bucky warned.

“What? He’s broken into pieces, he’s not going anywhere,” Natasha said.

“He’s a _robot._ He can get into the tower systems, into the internet. He could be _anywhere_ in an _instant.”_

“How do we stop it?” Clint asked.   
“We can’t,” Tony whispered. “We _can’t.”_

And the lights in the robot died, and Ultron was free.

Before he could even think, Bucky spun around, and punched Tony dead in the face.

 

 

It took both Steve _and_ Thor to pull him off, and he didn’t go quietly. “No!” He cried. “He’s gonna get us all _killed!_ He already killed JARVIS!”

Everyone was staring at him. “What do you mean?” Hill asked.   
“He’s not answering,” Tony said, as it slowly sunk in. “When Ultron said he killed the other guy, he didn’t mean a person. He meant _JARVIS.”_

There was silence. “You can rebuild him, right, though?” Steve asked.

Tony shook his head. “JARVIS had a self-writing script. I’d have to rewrite all the corrupted parts, but then, it could be any code by the end. There’s no guarantee it would be anything close to what we started with.”

And then he started _laughing._

“You think this is _funny,_ Stark?” Bucky growled.

“No,” Tony said. “It’s probably not, right?”

Everyone looked like they were ready to slug him, too.

“No, no, I’m sorry, it _is_ funny,” he said. “That you don’t get why we _need_ this.”

“Tony, this might not be the time…” Bruce said, but Tony wasn’t listening.

“Really?” Tony asked. “You just roll over, show your belly, every time somebody snarls?”

“Only when I’ve created a _murder-bot,”_ Bruce said.

“We didn’t!” Tony yelled. “We didn’t even come close! Were we _close_ to an interface?”

Bruce shrugged.

“Well you did _something_ right,” Steve said. “The Avengers were supposed to be _different_ then SHIELD.”

“Anybody remember when I carried a nuke through a wormhole?” Tony asked, and everyone rolled their eyes.

“No,” Rhodey deadpanned. “Because you’ve never brought _that_ up.”

Tony proceeded to launch into a full speech about how space was full of threats they needed to prepare for, but Bucky didn’t let him get halfway through it before he interrupted.

“You would’ve been great in Hydra,” he spat.   
Tony blinked. “Excuse me?”

“All you care about is yourself,” Bucky said. “You can talk a big game all day long, but the truth is, you’re _scared_ so you created a defense system to protect you. And now it wants you dead, because everything you create hates you just as much as you hate yourself.”

Tony was _shaking._ “You don’t understand me at _all.”_

“I understand you perfectly, I worked with you for years,” Bucky said. “Not the same face, not the same name, but the same _person,_ through and through. Do you know how many times I’ve been in Ultron’s shoes?”

Now everyone was staring at him.

“Yeah, I said it. I get where he’s coming from. Hydra created me to fulfil their mission and here I am, standing with their enemy, and I honestly don’t know which team is better. Maybe I was better off being just another vet in the D.C. homeless shelter.”

“You’d rather turn tail and run and _I’m_ the coward?” Tony accused.

“I’m not running,” Bucky said. “I’m gonna fight right beside you to take down this fucked up thing you created. I’m gonna get it to see sense, or surrender, or I’m going to destroy it. But after that? Tony Stark, I want you to know that I’m never, _ever,_ forgetting that you did this. That you created something as single-mindedly destructive and conflicted and confused as I was. I’m not letting _you_ forget it, either.”

There was silence.

Then Steve cleared his throat, speaking up. “If Ultron could be anywhere, we need to start looking. The world’s a big place – let’s start making it smaller.”

 

 

When they finally got the lead about Strucker’s associate, the vibranium thief, they were packing up to go within hours.

Clint and Natasha sat at his sides as they flew, and Bucky kept shifting between their shoulders.

“So, are you three an item, now?” Tony asked.   
“Shut up, Stark,” Clint said.   
Bucky hadn’t actually said a word to him since their fight, and didn’t intend to break that silence now.

Thor, Steve, and Tony actually approached Ultron and the Maximoffs in the building when they arrived, while the rest took up guard posts.

Bucky watched the two groups trade quips, and rolled his eyes. Ultron was truly a Stark creation, all snark and sass.

He started talking to Steve, and Bucky listened closely. “God’s Righteous Man,” Ultron called him. “Pretending you could live without a war.”  
Bucky could empathize. He, too, didn’t know what he’d do without a fight.

He pondered, briefly, what he’d have done if Ultron _had_ made the Avengers disband. If there had been total peace.

What would the Winter Soldier be, with no orders?

But then there was fighting, and Bucky snapped back to attention.

“Turning my aids up,” Clint whispered into the comm.

That was the last thing he heard before his world slipped into a dream.

It was a dance hall.

He didn’t know how he recognized it, but he knew it was the one in Brooklyn, just down the road from his apartment with Steve. Things he hadn’t even remembered just moments ago.

But the people… _those_ he knew he recognized.

It was a hall filled with Hydra agents.

“Take note,” Clint’s voice was in his ear. “What are their weaknesses?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered back.

“Try harder, soldier,” that was Natasha. “What. Are. Their. _Weaknesses?”_

 “They don’t _have_ any,” he cried. “We are soldiers; we are a machine. There is no flaw here.”

“Think again.”

Steve was in front of him. Not Captain America, not the hero from 2014. Skinny little Steve, way before the war was even declared.

He was holding out a hand.

“Dance with me, Buck,” he said. “No one can see us.”

“But…”

The dance hall was gone. They were in their apartment.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Music started playing, soft and sweet. They pulled each other close, swaying lightly to the sound.

“I love you, you know that, Bucky?” Steve said.   
Bucky smiled, but paused when Steve’s expression turned cold.

“But I loved her more, didn’t I?”

Bucky felt sick. _Peggy Carter._ Steve had loved her more than anything.

Memories came flooding back in flashes. Sweet smiles and gentle touches vanishing, turning to nothing, barely a glance. He only had eyes for her.

They were in a bar, and talking, and Bucky wanted to kiss him, but it was too public. And then _she_ came in, and he smiled at her like he was the light in his day, and all Bucky could think was _I have to say something._

He tried to get her to look away, even for a second. Hit on her, do something.

She wouldn’t even _blink._

Steve was staring at him, that cold expression unwavering. “I loved her, and I got over you. You can’t get over me, though, can you? Not even seventy years later. You’re _pathetic.”_

_Come back to me._

Bucky blinked at the invading voice, and took a step back, finding himself smacking into a wall. He turned to look at it, then back to Steve, only instead of his small, pre-war friend, he saw Clint.

He groaned. “No, no, no, don’t have _him_ hate me too,” he cried.

“Okay, that’s not what I was expecting,” Clint said.

Bucky blinked. “You’re…you’re real.”

“Shit, she got into your head, too,” he said. “Well, at least you came out of it. Come on, we’re gathering up the others. Banner’s on the loose but Stark is getting him under control. Thor and Steve are conscious again, Nat’s still under.” He put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “I need you _lucid,_ okay?”

Bucky nodded, resisting the urge to throw up. “Clint, he _hates_ me, he loves her, he-…”

“Oh, my God,” Clint groaned. “You can have a life crisis _after_ we save the world, okay?” And then he was pulling Bucky toward the jet. “I promise, your big gay jealous crisis can _wait.”_

Natasha came to about five minutes into the ride back, but everyone was sort of…vegative.

Hill informed them that Banner was at risk of arrest, and that most everyone was pissed at them for _something_.

She did take a moment to say, “Not you, Barnes. No one knows _you_ even exist yet.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to feel about that, so he chose to be grateful.

Clint informed them they were a few hours from a safehouse, and Bucky wondered what that meant.

Wondered up until they touched down outside a _farmhouse_ of all things.

The jet touched down, and a woman and kids ran out to greet them.

“You’ve gotta be fucking with me,” Tony sighed.

For the first time in a week, Bucky spoke to him, just to mutter, “ _Language_.”


	7. Chapter 7

The woman was pregnant.

Bucky noticed that immediately, which set off a red flag in his brain.   
The second flag went up when she went straight for Clint.

The final straw was her kissing Clint dead on the mouth.

He looked to Natasha. “Help?”

“Clint’s married,” she said, simply.

Bucky felt cold all of the sudden. “He’s _what?”_

She pat his shoulder. “They’re a weird couple. It’s open, so they sleep with other people.”

Bucky grit his teeth. “And he didn’t _tell me?”_

“He doesn’t tell _anyone_ ,” Natasha said. “I’ve just been here before.”

Speaking of which, one of the kids ran straight up to her. “Auntie Tasha!” They called.

“Hey, kiddo,” she greeted with a smile, scooping her up. “You’ve gotten bigger.”

Bucky stared blankly.

He had, unknowingly, partaken in an _affair._

He felt sick.

 

 

Everyone walked into the house, except Thor, who took off immediately, and Steve, who hung around outside the house. Bucky decided he didn’t particularly want to be anywhere near Clint’s wife, still feeling disgusting, and chose to stay outside as well.

“What did you see?” Steve asked, when Bucky leaned against the wall next to him.

“Huh?”

“In the dream,” Steve said.

Bucky tensed. “What did _you_ see?”

“A dance hall,” Steve said. “Pre-war. Well, post-war. Everyone was celebrating. Peggy was there.”

_Of fucking course she was._

“Huh?”

Bucky froze. He must have accidentally said that out loud.

“Buck,” Steve said slowly. “Did you not like Peggy?”

“It’s not important,” Bucky said immediately. “It’s just – part of what I saw. Pre-war stuff, old memories. Stuff I’d rather have forgotten, to be honest.”

Suddenly, even outdoors, he felt suffocated.

Domestic bliss it was.

He headed inside.

 

 

They were deciding who got what room.

There were _three_ guest rooms, in total. Thor was gone, so that was one less room taken up. Clint was in the master with his _wife,_ so there was that.

Natasha, Bruce, Bucky, Steve, and Tony had to choose between the remainder.

“Banner and I can double up,” Tony offered. “Since, you know, none of the rest of you want anywhere _near_ us.”

No one argued.

Natasha held her hand up. “I call being the single room. No offense, Rogers, Barnes, but a lady needs her space.”

Bucky swallowed. After his dream (vision? What did you call those?) he really didn’t want to share a room with Steve. But, what he said, was: “Okay. I can do that. I sleep on the floor, anyway.”

Everyone stared at him. “Seriously?” Clint asked.

Bucky flushed. “I don’t- I’m not used to- Beds are so _soft.”_

Steve made a noise of understanding. “Like sleeping on a marshmallow. You get used to it, but it’s hard to do at first.”

Clint blinked at them, before shrugging. “Alright, that’s settled. Now we’ll just get clothes sorted and we’re good.”   
“Not really _good,”_ Bucky muttered. “But we’re alive, so whatever.”

Clint stared at him for a second. “Can we talk?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I wasn’t really asking,” Clint said.

And then he walked outside.

Bucky sighed and followed.

“Look,” Clint said. “My marriage is open. Me and my wife both sleep with other people.”

“Then why even be married?” Bucky asked. “The way I was raised, marriage was a promise. You don’t just- you can’t just treat that like _nothing,_ Barton.”

Clint flinched at the use of the last name. “Look, you’re pissed, and I get it. But we didn’t really get married for _love_ or anything. There were…extenuating circumstances. I needed a visa, basically.”

“You got married,” Bucky said. “So that you could _immigrate.”_

“Yeah, it’s stupid, I know,” Clint said. “We do care about each other, a lot, but it’s not really romantic. I don’t think I can _do_ romance. Aromantic or something, it’s called. I like sex, but that’s it.”

“You have two children with her,” Bucky pointed out.

“And I love them,” Clint defended immediately. “They’re the light of my life. I’m just not a romantic.”

“And what will they think when they realize their parents don’t love each other?”

Clint flinched again. “That, I worry about daily. But I can’t change it, so why bother? Do what makes you happy.”

“You’re an asshole, Clint,” Bucky told him.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“That means I’ll think about it.”

 

 

They were making dinner when Clint and Bucky came back in.

The wife (Laura) was making most of the food in her kitchen, which made Bucky uneasy, but when he tried to turn down food, everyone looked at him disapprovingly.

“When’d you last eat?” Natasha asked. “And don’t you dare lie.”

Bucky mumbled his answer.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said. “Did you just say _pancakes?_ As in, the ones I gave you _three days ago?”_

“He hadn’t eaten for almost a week before that,” Tony piped in.

Laura made a horrified noise. “What’s your name?” she asked.

Bucky didn’t look at her, still not over his guilt. “Steve calls me _Bucky,”_ he said, in lieu of an answer.

“Well, Bucky,” she said. “Did you know I was a counsellor?”

That wasn’t what Bucky had been expecting. “Um…no?”

“Well, I was. And I dealt with a lot of eating disorders.”

Bucky froze. “That’s not- That’s not what this is,” he protested.   
“Isn’t it?” She asked. “Why aren’t you eating?”

He looked away. “It’s not about, like, weight or anything. It’s not a disorder.”

“It doesn’t have to be about weight. Does eating make you feel guilty?”

Bucky flinched.

“I thought so.” She sat down across from him. “That’s a disorder. You’ve got to take care of yourself, if you want to help your friends. No one is going to blame you for taking care of yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with eating what you need to eat.”

“They starved me,” Bucky whispered.

“Pardon?”

“Hydra,” Bucky admitted. “They starved me. It was an exercise. They starved me until I stole food and then shocked me until I got sick. Three times. I stopped stealing food.”   
Everyone at the table was staring at him in horror.

“I eat when there is food directly given to me,” he said. “But I usually get sick afterwards.”

She stood up, going to the stove, and sniffing once when her back was turned.

Great. He’d made Clint’s wife _cry._

He expected Clint to go comfort her, but instead, the man threw an arm around _Bucky_. “We’re not gonna hurt you, man,” he said. “Eat as much as you’d like. God knows Cap and Thor do.”

“The serum makes you eat more,” Steve said. “I don’t get how you’re not dying, going that long without food when your metabolism runs so fast.”

“The serum is probably also rebuilding cells faster than his body can burn them,” Bruce said. “No organ damage or muscle deterioration. Only the spare cells are destroyed.” He shrugged. “It’s still not _healthy,_ because most of your brain is ‘spare cells,’ so I’d eat regularly if you can.”

“Well,” Laura announced. “We’ll start now. I think dinner’s almost done.”

 

 

Dinner was good, but Bucky barely ate half a plate of it before he was _forcing_ himself to continue.

There was a tap on his shoulder, suddenly, and he remembered that for some reason, the little girl had taken the seat next to him. “Are you gonna eat those?” she asked, pointing at his peas.

Bucky kind of liked the peas. He said _no_ anyway, scraping them onto her plate.

She beamed at him.

Something in Bucky hurt.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Lila,” she said.   
“I like that name,” Bucky told her. “Mine’s _James,_ which is just boring. I like ‘Bucky’ better.”

“Buck,” she repeated.

“Yeah, Buck works, too,” Bucky said. “Steve calls me that sometimes.”

“Captain ‘Merica?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, somewhat sadly. “Captain America.”

“I like Captain ‘Merica,” she said. “Cooper’s got a Cap doll.”  
“It’s not a _doll,”_ Cooper complained from across the table. “’S an action figure.” He puffed up, beaming at Bucky. “I have ones of all the Avengers!” Then he pouted. “’Cept you. Never seen one for you.”

“I’m new,” Bucky said. And then, without thinking, “Bucky Barnes, reporting.”

Natasha’s head snapped around to look at him, and he immediately shrunk back. “Barnes, you with us?”

“I’m okay,” he replied, quietly. “I didn’t think.”

Cooper frowned. “What’d he say, Aunt Nat?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Eat your vegetables.”

Cooper pouted. “Mister Barnes didn’t eat his. He gave ‘em to Lila.”

Bucky shrunk down further.

“Bucky, eat your own food,” Steve told him.

“She wanted ‘em,” Bucky protested. “I’m done anyways.”

“No you’re not,” Laura said. “You haven’t eaten in days. You need _substance.”_

“You’re gonna make me sick,” Bucky whined.

“Steve said the serum burns through food,” Laura said. “You’ll be fine. _Eat.”_

Bucky sighed, as his traitorous brain declared _Handler input accepted_. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

 

Bedtime was a weird time.

Lila commandeered him on his way upstairs, grabbing his hand and dragging her into her room.

“Read me a bedtime story?”

“Uh,” Bucky murmured. But he couldn’t say no to that face. “Okay.”

She let out a small _whoop_ of joy, and crawled into bed, getting snug under her covers and watching him intently.

He looked at her small bookshelf. “Which of these do you wanna read?”

“The blue one,” she said, pointing to the top shelf.

Bucky got it down, but froze at what he saw.

The little boy on the cover had a prosthesis.

It was a leg, not an arm, but still. It made Bucky’s shoulder ache.

He sat down in the chair next to Lila’s bed, and sucked it up. He began to read.

 

 

Lila was half-asleep when he finished. “I like that story,” she sighed. “I’m glad that the boy got his leg back.”

He _didn’t_ get it back, Bucky wanted to say. He got a _replacement._

But that’s not what you tell kids.

So, instead, he said, “I have an arm like that.”

Lila was suddenly wide awake. “What?!” She grinned. “Can I see?”

Bucky shrugged off his jacket, holding out his metal arm to her.

“Whoa,” she breathed. “That’s so _cool.”_

Smiling slightly, Bucky decided to show off, and tensed his shoulder so that the gears in the arm would whirr. Lila let out a delighted shriek.

“Again, again!” she called.

He did it again.

Lila dissolved into giggles. “How’d you lose your arm, Mister Bucky?”

Bucky frowned. So much for the light mood. “I got hurt,” he said simply.

“Duh,” Lila said. “But _how_?”

“I fell off a train.”

Lila’s eyes went wide. “ _Whaat_? Did it hurt?”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “I don’t even really remember it.”

“You forgot ‘bout it?” Lila asked. “How’d you do that?”

Bucky considered it, then said, “A lot of bad people took me in, after I fell. They poked me and prodded me and did a whole bunch of awful stuff. I forgot most things. But then,” and she was on the metaphorical edge of her seat, watching with wide eyes. “My best friend found me.”  
“Who’s that?”

“Captain America,” he told her.

She grinned. “Captain ‘Merica saved you?”

“Yup,” Bucky said. “And now I know that no matter what happens, I have friends to protect me. Family. People who care about me.”

“People who love you!” she said.

Bucky resisted the urge to sigh, and put on a tense, fake smile. “Yeah. People who _love_ me.”

“That’s good,” Lila yawned. “Mister Bucky?”

“Yeah, Lila?”

“If Captain ‘Merica got taken by the bad guys,” she said. “Would you save him back?”

Now that was a question Bucky could answer. “Honestly, Lila? Not a thing in the world could stop me.”

“Cause you love him.”

Bucky froze. “Yeah,” he admitted, quietly, in the dark of the little girl’s room. “Because I love him.”

But Lila was already asleep.

 

 

Bucky had barely stepped out of the doorway when he heard Clint speak.

“Not sure if ‘Hydra stole my arm’ is a good bedtime story,” he said.

Bucky turned, wide-eyed and terrified. “How much did you-…?”

“Enough,” Clint said. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You seem to be really good with secrets.”

Maybe it was harsh, but Bucky was mean when backed into a corner. Before he could see Clint’s reaction, he fled.

 

 

The bedroom he’d be sharing with Steve was, in fact, containing his bunkmate, which made Bucky officially hate his life.

“Hey,” Steve greeted. “You okay? You look a little shaken.”

“I fucked a man,” he said. “That man is apparently married. With kids. _Adorable_ kids. I’m not having a good day.”

Steve choked. “Um, yeah. I’d imagine that wouldn’t feel good.”

Bucky dropped his jacket to the floor, and then kicked off his boots, before standing still in the middle of the room.

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“Um,” Bucky muttered. “I’ve been wearing drawstring pants and t-shirts to bed. I don’t exactly have my box here.”

“You keep your clothes in a box?” Steve asked.

Bucky flushed. “They came in a box. It seemed a waste of time to take them out.”

“Moving into a place isn’t a waste of time. You’ve got to make it feel like home.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “What’s the point?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the point of moving in anywhere?” he asked. “I’m always running. I don’t know who I am, and I doubt the answer to that question lies in sitting on my ass in Stark’s tower. Especially since, right now, I can’t stand the sight of the guy.”

Steve just stared at him. “I missed you,” he finally said.   
Bucky swallowed. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yes it is,” Steve said. “I’m the certifiable expert in Bucky Barnes. Stay with me, Buck. I’ll help you remember.”  
Bucky was quiet, and then, “What if I don’t remember?”

“You will.”  
“What if I don’t _want_ to?”

“…What?”

Bucky huffed. “I can’t go back to the Bucky you knew,” he said. “I’m too broken for that. I’m too changed. Remembering will just remind me how I used to be. It’ll make it hurt _more,_ not less.”

“Make what hurt?”

“I’m not _your_ Bucky,” Bucky said. “Not anymore.”

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“You remember a man who was there for you through everything. Who followed you to the ends of the Earth. Now I’m here, and honestly, I can count the conversations we’ve had on one hand.”

“You just don’t remember me,” Steve said. “You will, and then we can-…”

“What, Steve?” Bucky demanded. “I _do_ remember you, at least parts of you, and it changes nothing. Because the old Bucky is gone. It’s not _me_ that needs to change, it’s _you.”_

Steve recoiled. “What?”

“I’m who I am now,” Bucky insisted. “You need to adjust to that. You can’t keep expecting me to wake up and be the old Bucky. I’m not going to be. I’m just not.”

“I don’t expect that,” Steve said. “I just- I just want you to remember. I want you to trust me, to be my friend again.”

“Well then,” Bucky said. And he extended a hand. “My name is Bucky Barnes. I’m an ex-Hydra asset. It’s nice to fucking meet you.”

Steve took a shaky breath, and then took Bucky’s hand. “Steve Rogers. Ex-military experiment, current Avenger. Nice to meet you, too, Bucky.”

With that settled, Bucky stripped down to his underwear, laid down on the floor, and fell asleep.

 

 

The next day, Lila found Bucky the second he stepped out of his room (Steve was already up and outside when he woke up) and dragged him into the living room for coloring.

“You know,” he told her. “Captain America can draw.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yep! He’s real good at it.”

“Can you draw?” she asked.

“Well, I went to art school,” he admitted. “But I’m not as good as the Cap.”

She grinned anyway, shoving a crayon into his hands, and pointing at the pile of papers. “Draw me a picture.”

So Bucky did.

 

 

The Avengers were talking to Nick Fury.

Bucky only distantly recognized who he was, but he knew his presence didn’t mean good things. “Hey, kid,” he said, handing Lila his picture. “Why don’t _you_ show your Aunt Nat the pic?”

She nodded and ran up to Natasha’s side, handing her the picture.

“Did you draw this?” Natasha asked her, sounding awed. Lila shook her head and pointed at Bucky.

Bucky gave a tentative wave.

The picture was of Natasha herself, drawn in red and black crayon, which was not the easiest medium to use. She was smiling – the most genuine smile he imagined he’d ever see on her face – and he was honestly proud of how she looked in it.

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

“No prob,” he mouthed back.

“What’s he doing here?” Fury demanded. Bucky jumped as he realized they were talking about _him_.

“Uh,” Bucky said. “Hi.”   
“You _shot_ me, don’t just say ‘hi.’” Fury said.

“Sorry?” Bucky said. “I was under orders.”

“That doesn’t excuse you,” Fury said.

“Actually, for him, it sort of _does,”_ Tony defended. “Brainwashing, and mind control. He was no more in control than Clint was under Loki’s control.”

Bucky wanted to thank him, but he was still mad at Tony, so he just said, “What he said.”

Fury glared for a second, before taking a long drink from his glass. “I’m too old for this.”  
“You think you’re too old,” Bucky muttered. “I’m 97.”

 

 

They left the safehouse that same day.

Lila made him hug her _twice_ before he boarded the jet out, and then handed him a piece of paper and told him not to open it until he was in the air.

The drawing was a series of stick figures, drawn in green crayon. One was labeled “Daddy,” for Clint, another “Aunt Tasha,” and third, smaller one, “Me.”

The fourth figure was the only one in a different color. The figure itself was still green, but its left arm was drawn in silver. It was labeled “Uncle Bucky.”

Bucky tried, really hard, not to cry about it.

“What’s that?” Natasha asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Oh. You’ve been promoted.”

“What?” Clint called from across the plane, walking up to check it out. “Oh, cool. She must really like you.”

“God knows why,” Bucky muttered.   
“Hey, you’re a great guy, now that you’re not a psychopath,” Natasha said.

Bucky snorted. “Thanks, Natasha.”

“”S’what I’m here for.”

 

 

They reached the facility just in time to entirely miss Ultron, and that led to them dropping Steve (on yet another motorcycle, where was he getting these things?) into the street and trailing him in the jet, watching him chase down Ultron’s truck. After a brief debate, they dropped Natasha down, too.

She followed close behind, and Bucky pouted, watching them from the jet.

“What?” Clint asked.

“I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in ages,” he whined. “When’s my turn?”   
Clint laughed. “Hey, Nat,” he called. “You should let Buck ride bitch sometime.”

“Can do, Barnes.”

Then they were fighting directly, using the jet to draw Ultron’s guard-Ultrons away, and the banter stopped for a few minutes.

 

 

The Maximoff twins had stepped in and helped save the day.

But they had bigger problems.

“Tony’s doing _what?”_

“He’s gonna try to re-create an Ultron style program,” Steve said. “There’s no way he’s gonna let the chance for a functioning android slip between his fingers.”

“You know,” Bucky muttered, “I liked Stark. Why’d he have to go and ruin it?”

 

 

There was an android in the Avenger’s Tower.

It spoke with JARVIS’ voice.

“I am not Ultron,” he declared. “I am not JARVIS, I am…” He looked at them. “I _am.”_

Bucky wished he was that confident.

“Are you on our side?” Steve asked.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” the android replied.

Clint snapped at it – him – and then there was tension in the air. The creature launched into a small speech, and then-…

Then he was handing Thor the hammer.

Dead silence.

“Well done,” Thor told Tony, and patted him on the shoulder.

More silence, and then Steve gave them three minutes to arm themselves.

 

 

Bucky had everything he needed, so he just double-checked everything for the first minute.

Ten knives. Thirteen rounds.

Everything he needed.

“No way we all get through this,” Tony was saying, when Bucky met them on the roof. “There’s gonna be blood on the floor.”

“I got no plans tomorrow night,” Steve quipped.

“You die, and I’m killing you twice,” Bucky told him.

Steve just smiled back.

 

 

He gave them their game plan: minimize casualties, destroy Ultron.

Bucky’s brain immediately clicked into Soldier mode. _Mission parameters accepted._

 

 

The ground was in the air.

Bucky couldn’t even wrap his head around it. _The ground. Was in. The AIR._

“Kindly explain, what the fuck?” Bucky called into the comms.

“He’s creating a meteor,” Tony said. “He plans to drop it from space. The impact would create a shockwave to wipe out humanity.”

“Well,” Bucky said. “How do we make that _not_ happen?”

A pause. “I don’t know.”

Steve gave a few more orders over the comms.

He could hear Clint over the radio, talking to Wanda. “You step out that door,” he told her, “You’re an Avenger.”

A few minutes later, and Clint was plotting Pietro’s murder over the comms.   
“You know I can hear you, yeah?” Bucky called.

“You heard _nothing,”_ Clint replied. And then, “He called me _old.”_

“You’re what, forty-something? I’m twice your age.”

A beat. “Ew. Never say that again.”

“You fucked an old man, Barton, get over it,” Tony called over the comms.   
“Can I get some _fucking backup?”_ Steve’s voice called.

“ _Language,”_ Bucky and Tony said at the same time.

 

 

There was an Evac carrier.

Thank _God._

They gathered at the center of the city, in the church, for a while, but then it came time to get the last of the people out of the city.

They had to split up.

Bucky ran around the city streets, directing person after person to the Evac carrier.

“Who are you?” one woman asked. “Are you an Avenger?”   
“I’m nobody,” he replied. “I’m just trying to help.”

It felt more true than anything he’d said in weeks.

 

 

He saw Clint right before the guns started firing.

He saw _Pietro_ see Clint right before the guns started firing.

He had to make the call.

Unless…

He dove at exactly the right time. Knocked Pietro aside, tucked his body around the kid, but blocked the shots to Clint.

He felt a series of bullets puncture his back, and the world went dark.

 

 

He came to in a box.

Instantly, he was panicking.

So much so he barely noticed the box _opening._

“See, I told you this was a bad idea, too much like a cryo chamber- _Buck, can you hear me?”_

And then he was being slapped.

 _That_ snapped him out of it.

He looked up with wide, frightened eyes, to see a shaking Clint Barton. “ _Never_ take a bullet for me,” the man hissed.

“I don’t have kids,” Bucky slurred, brain numb from the panic and the injuries. “Seemed reasonable at the time.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint said. “Thanks, or whatever.” He shoved Bucky’s shoulder lightly. “Just don’t say it was an act of love and devotion, or I might have to kill you.”

Bucky heard Pietro whisper _“Are they…together?”_ and he snorted.

Tony was wrong.

They all _did_ make it out.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was _not_ happy.

He was okay with the whole…Clint and Bucky thing, when it was just the three assassins letting off steam. That was _fine._

Sure, it made his gut twist, but he passed that off as residual discomfort from living in the 40s.

This, though.

This was something else.

Clint hadn’t moved from the side of the cradle where Bucky was regrowing his skin since Bucky had gone into the thing.

Steve pursed his lips. If he didn’t know Clint was married, he’d call it a romantic gesture. An act of devotion.

Instead, it was just _super fucking obnoxious._

When Bucky woke up, Clint scolded him for taking the shot, and then shrugged it off with a joke. And, with that out of the way, he left the room and only visited again every once in a while.

Steve was furious.

This man had cheated on his wife with Steve’s best friend, toyed with Bucky, and now here he was, staying at his bedside out of _spite._

A few days after Bucky woke up, he was at breakfast, when Clint made some crack about repeating his threesome with Nat and Bucky.

Steve slammed his fist on the table, and _let it all go._ “Is this some sort of game to you?”

“Um,” Clint said. “Depends what you’re talking about?”  
“He’s my _friend,”_ Steve said. “You can’t just – _toy_ with him.”

“Okay,” Clint said slowly. “I need you to look up the phrase ‘casual sex.’ Because it’s a real thing. And probably ‘open marriage,’ too, since I suppose you’re pissed about the wife thing.”

Oh, he was _beyond_ ‘pissed.’ “Bucky is a great man, when Hydra doesn’t have their claws in him. He doesn’t deserve to be treated _casually.”_

“Oh?” Clint asked. “And how would _you_ treat him? Real special, I’d bet.”

Steve paled. “That’s not what this is about. This is about _you_ mistreating him.”

“No,” Clint insisted. “It’s about you being jealous. Me and Bucky have talked. He was pissed for a bit about the wife thing, since I didn’t tell him, but he doesn’t really seem to care. _You_ only care because _you_ wish you could bone him.”

“Clint,” Natasha warned.

“No, Nat, I’m not letting him take this out on me,” Clint demanded. “You want him?” He asked Rogers. “Go fucking get him. But don’t sit here and act like it’s my fault that he wanted someone other than you in his life.”

Steve sucked in a breath.

“Uncalled for, Barton,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, well,” Clint said. “It’s true.”

Steve didn’t stick around to hear any more.

 

 

Bucky stared at the ceiling, brain running at a mile a minute.

He thought about asking JARVIS to play something for him, but then he remembered JARVIS was an actual _man_ now. Who they called _Vision_.

Who was the new AI, again?

“Friday, right?” he called out to the air.

“Yes, sir,” the female voice answered.

“Can you play something?” Bucky asked. “Music, or a movie? Just…some noise. I’m going crazy in here.”

There was a pause, and Bucky almost asked again, when the AI spoke again. “Mister Stark has a playlist entitled _Recovery._ Would you like me to play it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Playing Track One.”

 

 

It became apparent, after the third angry, harsh song in a row, that this was not an injury recovery playlist.

This was a _trauma recovery_ playlist.

The fourth song was the first one Bucky really listened to the lyrics on, and he found himself fitting the lyrics a bit too well.

“Can you play that again?” he asked when it ended.

“Looping Track Four.”

_You put an Eagle inside of a cage // And you think I’m not strong enough to escape_

_But I refuse to let you make me feel like I can’t fly // Not only will I soar again, I’ll own the fucking sky_

This song was _perfect._

 

 

Steve reached the designated “infirmary” section of the lab to hear the sound of fast beats and electronic instruments.

His first thought was that Tony was down there working on something, but when he looked through the glass, it was just Bucky, sitting by himself in the cradle, _singing along_ to the angry-sounding song.

Steve walked in just as it ended.

“Again, Friday,” Bucky called into the air.   
“Sir, this is your fifth loop.”

“Don’t care,” Bucky replied. “I _like_ it.”

“Looping Track Four.”

Steve listened to a few lyrics, and felt choked.

“ _I’m done being your slave,”_ Bucky sang along.

“That’s good,” Steve said.

Bucky flinched at the sudden noise. “Friday-…”

The song cut off immediately.

“So,” he said. “Taking up Tony’s affinity for angry music?”   
Bucky shrugged. “It fits.”

Steve sat for a minute, thinking about Clint’s words.

_If you want him, go fucking get him._

“Hey, Buck-…”

“Bad news, boys,” Tony’s voice came from the doorway.

Steve sighed. “What is it?”

Tony sauntered into the room. “Press release time. Our grace period is up and the people want answers about what the hell was going on in Sokovia.”

“Tell them the truth,” Bucky said. “You fucked up.”

“I fixed it!” Tony defended.

“ _We_ fixed it,” Steve corrected.

“ _Vision_ fixed it,” Bucky added. “Mostly Vision.”

“And I built Vision.”

“With help,” Bucky said. “Speaking of which: we found Banner, yet?”

“Not yet,” Tony said. “He’ll turn up.”

“Huh,” Bucky said. “Hey, which one of you is the mom?”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Vision is like their baby. So, who’s the mom?”

“Um, that’s offensive,” Tony said, mimicking a nasal voice. “I’ll have you know that two men can _both_ be fathers, and that to imply otherwise is sexist and homophobic.” Then, in his normal voice, he said, “Also, Bruce. Definitely Bruce.”

 

 

The same day he got out of the cradle, Maria Hill started prepping him for his official introduction to being an Avenger.

Which was to say: announcing it to the media.

“Do you want to give them your history, or make up an alias?”

Bucky shrugged. “They can know who I am. Just…keep the Hydra stuff to a minimum.”

“We can say you were a Hydra prisoner kept in cryosleep,” she said. “That way they don’t have to know about your history fully.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

“Would you like us to prepare a statement?”

“Go ahead.”

 

 

He read his notecards the morning of the conference, and scowled at them.

“I hate this,” he announced.

Tony looked over. “Ew, notecards? Just make it up as you go, honestly.”

Bucky tossed the cards onto the table. “I’m bad at that,” he said, “But I’m definitely not saying all _that.”_

“What’s it say?” Tony said. He picked them up, flipping through. “Captured by Hydra in the 40s, kept in cryosleep, grateful to the Avengers for the rescue – aw, you’re welcome – yada yada…Okay, it’s kind of sappy, but I don’t see the problem?”

“I’m okay with softening the truth,” Bucky said. “But that’s straight bullshit. I’m not gonna just stand there and lie. They’ll see right through me.”

“Fair enough,” Tony said, and dumped the cards in the trash. “We’ll wing it.”

 

 

There were too many lights.

He was in a suit.

He wasn’t allowed to bring a gun, just knives. Only _seven_ this time, as this suit was new and had fewer inseam pockets.

“Seven is still excessive,” Tony told him when he complained. He was actually talking to Tony again, though admittedly not much.

Bucky pointed at Tony’s ‘briefcase,’ where the Iron Man suit lay dormant. “You carry that _everywhere,_ and _knives_ are excessive?”

“…Touché.”

Journalists filed into the press room, taking assigned seats. Bucky had tried to memorize who was sitting where, so he would know who was who, but that was too much information for his scattered brain.

The lights were so damn _bright._

They’d put makeup on him, too. “For the cameras,” Tony had explained. It felt disgusting.

“I feel like I’m being suffocated,” he told Pietro, who was sitting next to him.

All four new Avengers were present: Pietro, Wanda, Vision, and Bucky. All were seated at the end of the table. Bucky was closest to the middle, because Steve sat in the dead center, and wanted to sit by Bucky.

That made the order, from left to right: Vision, Wanda, Pietro, Bucky, Steve, Tony, Clint, and Natasha. Bruce was AWOL and Thor had left to go… _somewhere_ …and research the Mind Stone.

An announcer stepped out and told the journalists the rules. Stay quiet, speak only when called on, you get _one_ question per time called on, do not harass them by asking the same question multiple times, turn the flash off on your cameras, etc.

Then came the _scary_ rule.

“The first twenty minutes _must_ be dedicated to the introduction of new Avengers. After that, your questions may follow any criteria, as long as it is not deemed harassment.”

Bucky straightened. To Steve, he asked, “They can ask _anything?”_

Steve nodded tensely. “And they _will_. Be prepared for that.”

Bucky slumped in his seat. _Great._

The conference began with Steve leaning forward, tapping his mic gently to check that it was on, and saying, “Okay, we’re gonna start taking questions, now. To begin, we’ll re-introduce ourselves, starting at the right. Natasha?”

“Natasha Romanov, Black Widow,” she said evenly.

“Clint Barton, Hawkeye,” Clint picked up.

“Tony Stark, Iron Man.”

“Steve Rogers, Captain America. And our new Avengers…”

Everyone was looking at Bucky.

Steve seemed to realize that was a _bad_ thing, because he said, “From the left, there’s Vision, an android created by Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, also known as their new codenames, Scarlett Witch and Quicksilver. And, finally,” the big reveal of the night, “Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier.”

Several hands went up. “First question,” Steve announced, and called on a blonde woman up front.

She introduced herself and her paper, and then asked, “Is this _Bucky Barnes_ meant to be the very same as your friend from the 40s?”

“Right to the chase, I like you,” Tony said, which made a few people laugh.

“Yes,” Steve said. “The reports of his death have recently come to light as false. Instead, he was kept in cryostasis in a Hydra base, until recently, when we discovered him during a raid.”

More hands in the air. Steve looked to Tony, and Tony called on a ginger man in the third row.

Once again, he gave his name and the name of his paper. “How _recently_ did you discover him?”

“He’s been with us for roughly three weeks,” Steve told them.

The next few questions were about the Maximoffs – who were they, where were they from, etc. – to which Steve answered that they were human experiments of Hydra’s who’d been rescued by the Avengers.

Bucky felt nauseous.

The announcer came back on stage before Bucky even knew it, and Bucky had a fleeting hope that he’d missed the whole conference – but it turned out he’d only missed the first twenty minutes.

It was open season, now.

So many more hands went up.

_So many._

Bucky was honestly going to throw up.

To calm himself, he started trying to remember the words to some songs. He started with the song from the lab, then moved to older songs. Really old songs, from back in the 40s.

He was in the middle of trying to remember how _I’ll Never Smile Again_ started when he realized people were looking at him.

He looked to Steve for help.

“They asked what made you join the Avengers,” Steve told him.

Bucky blinked, looking out into the sea of eager reporters.

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t-…_

“I just wanted to help,” he answered. “I owe Hydra a couple swift kicks, too.”

More questions. Asking Tony if he and Pepper are still going strong. Asking Natasha if she was _really_ sleeping with any of the Avengers, which seemed sexist, since they didn’t ask Clint that (though, Bucky thought to himself, he was probably the more likely of them).

 _New song,_ he thought, trying to recall the opening bars to _You Always Hurt the One You Love._

Probably a bad song choice, in hindsight.

And then he heard a “Mister Barnes,” and snapped back into the present, eyeing the reported.   
“Now that you’re present,” she said. “Do you want to address the rumors that you and Captain Rogers were…romantically involved, before the war?”

Bucky _froze._

He forced himself to relax, treating it like an interrogation. _Don’t get tense. That answers their questions._ “You do realize,” he drawled, “that it was the forties?”

There was a bit of laughter, but Bucky didn’t really find it funny.

“Even if we had _wanted_ to be ‘romantically involved’ – and I take this moment to remind you we’ve only ever been _friends_ – we couldn’t do anything about it. That sort of thing could get you discharged, even arrested. In some areas, straight up killed. It wasn’t a _pleasant_ time.”

He leaned back in his seat.

“Well said,” Tony applauded him. “Next question?”

Bucky was getting ready to zone out again, but the next question was for him, too.

“How do you know so much about homosexuality in the forties, Mister Barnes?”

Bucky blinked. To Steve, he asked, “ _Homosexuality_ is just liking men, right?”

Steve nodded.

“Well,” Bucky said. “By liking men in the forties.”

The room _exploded_ with chatter.

The moderator had to come out and quiet the audience, and Bucky realized he’d just _fucked up, massively._

He’d just admitted to being bisexual. In front of a room of reporters.

_Shit, shit, shit. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up._

“Don’t throw up,” Pietro whispered.

“Thanks,” Bucky said back.

The announcer said they’d take questions for another ten minutes, and then the conference would be over.

The next question was, predictably, addressed to Bucky. “Would you identify as being homosexual, Mister Barnes?”

“Um,” Bucky said. “Not…really. I…Tony?” he looked to the man for an out.

“He’s bisexual,” Tony said. “And before the biphobes start up, _yes,_ men can be bisexual. You can like men _and_ women.”

The next question was also for Bucky.

What a _shock._

“When did you realize you were homosexual?”

“Bisexual,” Tony corrected automatically.

“Uh,” he muttered. “I dunno. I’ve always sort of known. I just focused on women, until recently. There was no grand turning point. Unless you count Tony pointing it out.”

“I gave him a cool t-shirt,” Tony announced proudly. “ _Angry Bisexual._ It’s pretty fitting.”

The next question was, happily enough, for everyone _except_ Bucky.

“What do the rest of you think of this revelation?”

Vision said nothing. Wanda shrugged, Pietro said, “I met him three days ago – this changes nothing.”

Natasha said, “It’s nice to know the _Bi Avengers_ team is getting a new member. We should get shirts.”

To which Tony replied, “Hell yeah, we should.”

Clint added, “I can work up a design when we’re back at the tower.”

Steve rolled his eyes and announced, “I think the _Bisexual Avengers_ outnumber straight Avengers, to be honest.”

And holy shit, did half the team just come out? Including, in his own subtle way, _Steve?_ Bucky was seriously going to need to throw up soon.

The mod came back out, announcing _no more questions,_ and Bucky finally relaxed.

They could go home.

_Finally._

 

 

The conference had apparently been _livestreamed_ (and they had to quickly explain to him what that actually meant), which meant that within minutes of arriving at the tower, they were informed that “#BisexualAvengers” was trending on Twitter.

Out of curiosity, Bucky asked Friday to pull up some top tweets on a wall display, and the Avengers gathered around to read them out together.

“Big day for bi visibility,” Natasha read. “Hashtag bisexual Avengers.”

“Now if we had a trans superhero,” Bucky read. “Wait, what’s trans?”

“Transgender,” Steve said, and Tony quickly explained what that actually entailed.

“Ah,” Bucky said. “Yeah, a trans Avenger would be cool. We should start a recruiting campaign. _Queer Superheroes Wanted.”_

Everyone laughed at that.

“This is kind of gross,” Pietro said, and everyone prepared to yell, when he held up his hands in surrender. “Just! You’re all too old to talk about sex.”

Clint groaned. “Son, you don’t even _know.”_

“I’m twenty-seven,” Bucky protested.

“Twenty-five,” Steve boasted. “I’m the youngest here.”

“You’re both over ninety, shut up,” Tony said.

“Ew, what?” Wanda laughed. “ _Ninety?”_

They gave her a quick crash course in their history. At the end, she looked awed.

“Are you immortal, now?” she asked.

Bucky shrugged. “Probably not. I still can’t even eat solid food.”

Then everyone was looking at him. “You’re _still_ getting sick?” Steve asked.

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. I tried not to say anything, but…”

“No, that’s something you _should_ tell us,” Steve said. “We really need to get you back into an eating routine.”

“Seriously,” Tony said. “Protein shakes weren’t a joke. They could help a lot.”

“I’m not eating pureed vegetables.”

Tony pouted. “Hey! They can be fruit, too!”

Bucky sighed. “I guess I _did_ keep that apple down.”

Steve stared at him in pure horror. “Is that the _last thing_ you managed to actually eat?”

“Um,” Bucky said. “Yes?”

“Wait, how long ago was that?” Pietro asked.   
“Like, two weeks,” Steve said.

“How are you still _alive?”_ Pietro demanded.

“I’m a super-soldier,” Bucky defended weakly.

“You’re a super idiot,” Natasha declared. “Let’s go get you a protein shake.”

 

 

Protein shakes weren’t bad-tasting, per say, but they weren’t really… _good,_ either.

They filled him up, though, and he didn’t get sick, so he called it a win.

“How is it?” Tony asked.

“Vaguely like drinking paper,” Bucky replied honestly.

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, maybe we should leave the protein powder out until you adjust to them. It’s not a great flavor.”

Bucky hesitated. “What’d you put in this?”

“Fruit, veggies,” Tony said. “And protein power – basically just a vitamin supplement. That’s all, I promise.”

Bucky stared him down for a minute, deemed the statement true, and returned to drinking.

He finished the whole thing.

 

 

Back in his room that night, he asked, “Friday, do you have any more playlists?”

“I informed Mister Stark that you’d played his music,” she said, traitorously. “He took the liberty of arranging a playlist for you, entitled _Angry Bisexual Mixtape.”_

Bucky snorted. “Okay, fine. Play it.”

 

 

His song from the lab was first, which made him smile, and then some songs from the 40s.

But then another song played, and halfway through it, Bucky’s blood ran cold.

_Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new._

Bucky sat up in bed.

Tony _knew._

 

 

Tony stared at Bucky’s angry face, feeling a vague since of déjà vu. “What is it?” he asked. “C’mon, I haven’t even _given_ you the shirts yet!”   
Bucky looked confused for a second. “You bought me more shirts?” But then he shook his head and went back to looking pissed. “That’s not the point. _How did you know?”_

Definitely déjà vu.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Tony said. “I know a lot of things.”

“Friday played me your playlist for me,” Bucky said. “That song. The fourth or fifth one. What was _that_ about, if you didn’t know?”

Tony ran a hand down his face. “I made that, like, a week ago. I don’t remember what track was where.”

Bucky stared him down. “Friday,” he asked the air. “Replay the last track I played.”

“ _Looping Track Five,”_ Friday said.

The opening bars of _Do I Wanna Know?_ started to play, and Tony snorted. “Cut it off, Friday, I get the point.”

The song stopped.

Tony sighed, leaning against his door frame. “Look, it’s like…” He wasn’t wearing a watch. “Friday, time?”

“It is precisely 1:17 in the morning,” Friday replied evenly.

“Yeah, _that,”_ Tony said. “And there a lot more songs in there that are probably gonna make your little unrequited love hurt. But trust me, music is cathartic.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky said. “How. Did. You. _Know?”_

“Dude, you’re _obvious,”_ Tony said. He couldn’t even help it, just blurted it out. “I’m pretty sure Cap is the only one who _doesn’t_ know you’re crushing. And I gotta ask – is this a recent thing, or has it been since the 40s?”

Bucky looked away, and mumbled something.

“He said _‘The twenties, actually,’”_ Friday helpfully supplied.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you, like, _ten_? I’ve never heard of a crush lasting 87 years.”

Bucky looked up at the ceiling and huffed out a breath. “Because it’s not a _crush,”_ he insisted.

“Oh,” Tony said, eyes going wide. “Oh, _shit.”_ He paused. “I have to update the playlist. Maybe a nice few loops of _Your Type_ by Carly Rae Jepsen. Or _the Fourth of July_ by Fall Out Boy? Oh yeah, definitely that one. It’s even titled after Cap’s birthday, it’s perfect.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky sighed. And then, “Steve really doesn’t know?”

“Oh, hell no,” Tony confirmed. “That man is _oblivious._ I flirted with him when we first met for, like, three months. He never caught on.”

Bucky glared at him.

“I stopped!” Tony defended. “I’m _taken,_ honestly. And not Barton-taken, where I don’t really give a shit. We’re completely exclusive.”

Bucky sighed heavily. Then, quietly, he admitted, “I really don’t wanna go back to my floor.”   
“Avoiding Cap?” Tony asked. “That’s cool. Wanna come sleep on my floor and listen to the rest of the playlist?”

“…Yeah, okay.”  


 

So Bucky sprawled out on Tony’s floor and listened to the assortment of songs, with Tony occasionally butting in to say, “Add (insert song),” which would make said title play.

Sometime around _It’s Been a Long, Long Time,_ Bucky rolled onto his side and, as quietly as possible, started to cry.   
“Hey, Barnes,” Tony called. Bucky froze, turning to look at Stark slowly, but Tony just patted the bed next to him. “Come up here.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Totally platonic cuddling, I promise. You just…look like you could use it.”

Reluctantly, Bucky crawled in next to him.

And frowned.

“Your bed’s not as soft.”

Tony shrugged, and looped an arm around him, snuggling into the space between his shoulder blades. “I usually sleep in the lab. This is more familiar.”

“Could I…” Bucky began. “Can I get a firmer mattress? Like, _really_ firm.”

“Anything you want, buddy,” Tony agreed. “Now, let me pass out.”

 

 

Eventually, Bucky had Friday stop the music, and fell asleep too.

 

 

Natasha sipped her coffee, taking inventory of the breakfast room.

Steve was tucking into _way_ too many eggs for a normal human, Clint was eating cereal like his life depended on it, Bruce and Thor were still away, Pietro and Wanda were sitting next to each other and whispering back and forth, Vision was hovering in the corner, and Bucky and Tony were…

Entirely absent.

“Friday,” she spoke up, while the kitchen was quiet. “Can I get a visual on Barnes?”

“Mister Stark requested privacy,” Friday told her.

“I didn’t ask for Stark,” Natasha said. “I asked for _Barnes.”_

Everyone paused.

It sunk in.   
“Holy _shit,_ are you serious?” Clint yelled. “I thought Tony was all over Pepper! And Bucky was super pissed at him!”

Steve was frozen. His blood was _boiling,_ and his vision was swimming red. “Please tell me, Friday,” he asked, “That we’re assuming wrong.”

“To inform you of what Mister Stark is doing would break his request for privacy.”

“Did Barnes request privacy?” Natasha asked.

There was a beat. “No, ma’am. Sargent Barnes is sleeping.”

Everyone relaxed a little at that.

Natasha turned to Steve. “How long has he been with Tony?”

“He’s not _with_ Tony,” Steve insisted.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I meant _last night,_ not romantically. Get your head out of your ass.”

Steve flushed. “He was on our floor when I went to bed.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “But you go to bed at like, 10, so that’s not a good judge. Friday, when did Barnes leave his floor, last night?”  
“Your detective work leaves little to be desired,” Friday drawled.

Steve wasn’t sure to feel about this new AI.

“Sargent Barnes arrived at Mister Stark’s floor at approximately 1:10am.”

Everyone let that sink in, processing what it could mean, when Friday announced, “Mister Stark has lifted his privacy request.”  
“Visual, please,” Natasha said.

Camera footage of Bucky appeared, and next to it, footage of Tony.

Tony was in his pajamas, and was sorting through his closet, presumably looking for something to wear. “Drop Stark’s footage, I don’t wanna see him get dressed,” Steve said.

The footage blinked out.

On Bucky’s footage, the man slinked down the hall on Tony’s floor, toward the elevator.

When he reached the elevator, he said, “Friday, play _They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”_

The soft love song started playing, and Natasha winced. “That’s…fitting, I guess,” she said.

Steve’s heart _broke._

Mostly because, in the video footage, Bucky had tears in his eyes.

“Turn to footage off,” Steve ordered.

“No, leave it-…” Clint started, but Steve glared at him, and he conceded, “Okay, off.”

The footage clicked off.

Everyone sat in silence for a while, before the kitchen doors slid open, and Tony sauntered in.

“Wow,” he said, looking at the room of grim faces. “Who died?”

 

 

Bucky took a shower and changed clothes, happy to find a new box on his bed, containing even more shirts.

He pulled one out at random, smiling at the words on it.

_HALF HOMO._

He rolled his eyes and put it on.

He then headed upstairs, arriving to the sound of yelling. He paused outside the kitchen, listening in.

“ _I didn’t fuck him, I’m taken!”_ Tony’s voice was yelling.

Bucky froze.

They knew where he was last night.

 _Cover blown,_ Bucky’s soldier-brain said. _Abort mission, regroup._

 _What_ mission? Bucky thought back, angrily.

Right now, his mission was to get everyone to _lay off Tony._

So he strolled in, glared down at all of them when they turned to stare, and drawled, “I can’t even _sleep_ somewhere different without you guys assuming I’m that easy?”

“Whoa, careful with the slut-shaming,” Tony said. “I’ll have you know I’m a _catch._ You’d be _lucky_ to have me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You almost destroyed the planet with a deathbot.”

“Yeah well,” Tony muttered. “Nobody’s _perfect.”_

Natasha had her lips pursed. “Sorry, Barnes,” she said. “Tony just has a reputation for being a man-whore.”

“Slut shaming!” Tony declared.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky sighed.

Tony placed a hand on his chest in mock horror. “Remind me to catch you up to date on social justice.”

“If you weren’t…like that…” Steve said, slowly. “What _were_ you doing there?”

“None of your business,” Tony snapped.

“Not helping you look less guilty,” Natasha said.

“I don’t care,” Tony said. “Think what you want about me, but I’m taking yesterday’s secrets to the _grave.”_

Bucky smiled at the gesture. “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a nice guy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Clint muttered. “But fine, keep your secrets. But I’m gonna leak a rumor to the press that you’re boning.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Bucky hissed.  

Clint blinked. “I was _kidding,_ but nice to know that if I’m ever pissed off at you, I have options for payback.”

“I will honestly stab you,” Bucky replied. 

There was a beat, and then Steve muttered, “ _Excuse me,”_ and left the room.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he’d messed up.  


	9. Chapter 9

“Dance with me?” Tony asked him.

Bucky stared at him blankly. They were on the rec floor, in the main room, where the TV and the couches were, and _all of the Avengers_ (sans Bruce and Thor) were staring at them.

But Tony wanted to _dance._

“You’re not helping our case,” Bucky murmured.

Tony shrugged. “I wanna dance, and I’m not asking Natasha again.”

 _Again._ “There’s a story, there.”

“Not really, she just…threatened me. A lot.”

Bucky snorted, but reached up, taking Tony’s offered hand. “Alright, Stark. I’ll have you know I haven’t danced since 1944.”

“Well then, let’s start with a classic.”

Then _It’s Been a Long, Long Time_ started playing.

“I hate you,” Bucky muttered.

“Nah,” Tony said, pulling him in and starting to sway. “I’m your best friend.”

“Steve is-…”

“That you’re _not_ trying to make out with.”

Bucky tensed, but decided to play it off with a joke. “Who says I’m not?” He wagged his eyebrows, and Tony made a face.

“Uh, no. You’re pretty, don’t get me wrong, but, y’know. _Taken.”_

“Pretty,” Bucky laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that. Unless it was in a condescending way.”

“Well, get over it, you _are,”_ Tony said. “Especially with the hair. Please tell me you’re not gonna cut it.”

“I like my ponytail,” Bucky reassured him.

Tony lead the dance, even spinning him a couple of times. At the end of the song, he went as far as to _dip_ him, which made Bucky laugh.   
“I’m not some dame,” he told Tony.

“We just say ‘girl’ now,” Tony corrected him.

There were applause when Tony pulled Bucky back to his feet.

Bucky turned, raising an eyebrow at Natasha, who had started the clapping. She whistled in response.

“You sure you’re not boning?” Clint asked.

“Positive,” Bucky assured him. “You really think I’d yell at you about your marriage and then turn around and wreck someone _else’s_ relationship?”

“He has a point,” Tony said.

Bucky went back to sit next to Steve again on the couch, only…

Steve was gone.

Huh. _Weird._

 

 

Steve sat in his room, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He couldn’t keep watching people toy with Bucky.

Bucky needed something _stable_ in his life. Something consistent.

After a while of thought, Steve got an idea, and called Sam.

 

 

Sam was unpacking the last of his things in his New York City office when his phone rang.

It was his cell phone, but not his _typical_ cell phone. The burner phone that Steve had given him.

“As a precaution,” he’d said.

Sam sighed, and opened it. “Wilson,” he greeted. “Please don’t be dying.”

“Do you want a boyfriend?”

Sam paused. “Did you just – Listen, Steve, I’m flattered, but I think of you as a _friend,_ nothing-…”  
“Not me, you ass,” Steve said. “Bucky.”

Sam was pretty sure the world had just tipped. “Isn’t he _straight?”_

“Bisexual. Didn’t you see the press conference?”

“I avoid those,” Sam said. “Especially when they involve _you.”_

“It was trending on twitter for, like, three days.”

“I don’t tweet,” Sam said. “But back to the _point:_ are you trying to ask me out for Bucky?”

“More like I want _you_ to ask _him_ out.”

Sam blinked, pulling the phone away and checking the number. Putting the phone back to his ear, he asked, “Am I being Punk’d?”

“Sam, just hear me out,” Steve said, but Sam cut him off.

“By all means, please explain to me why you want me to date your cybernetic-enhanced 97-year-old best friend.”

And so Steve explained: people were luring Bucky into one-night-stands and then more or less ignoring him, and, in Steve’s opinion, generally taking advantage of him.

“And your solution...is for _me_ to date him?”

“I trust you,” Steve said. “ _Bucky_ trusts you.”

“Doesn’t mean he _likes_ me,” Sam said. “Or that I like _him.”_

“You don’t?”  
“As a friend, sure,” Sam said. “But honestly, Steve, if I _did_ think about dating him, this would put me off.”  
A beat. “Why?”  
“Because, I’m not playing into your scheme to control the guy.”

“I’m not trying to-…”

“Yes,” Sam insisted. “You _are._ You’re scared that someone’s gonna hurt him, so you’d rather keep him close to home and ‘safe.’ But relationships don’t work like that. They’re _not_ ‘safe.’ They’re risky, because you _can_ get hurt, but that’s part of what makes them so good. Bucky’s gotta get his own dates, Steve. _Talk_ to him, if you want him to pick better guys. Or girls, or whatever.”

And Sam hung up.

He had _actual work_ to do.

 

 

Steve huffed. Maybe he _was_ overreacting, but Bucky had been through so _much._ He didn’t want someone to break his heart on top of that.

But maybe someone forcing themselves to date him in order to keep him safe was a worse option.

Steve was gonna have to do this directly.

 

 

“You need to stop seeing Tony,” Steve told Bucky.

Bucky stared at him blankly. “For the last time, _we’re not together.”_ And then the words sunk in, and he exclaimed, “And what gives _you_ the right...?”

“Buck, these people aren’t good for you,” Steve said. “Clint’s married, Natasha’s closed off, Tony’s with Pepper.”

Bucky groaned. He listed them off, ticking them off on his fingers. “Casual sex, casual sex, and _just a friend._ When will you _get_ that?”

“I’m just saying,” Steve said, “If you wanna date someone, do that. But don’t just…settle.”

Bucky pursed his lips. _Everyone would be ‘settling,’_ he thought. _Compared to you._

What he said, though, was: “That’s _my_ business.”

“Sargent Barnes,” Friday said. “You’re being paged to Mister Stark’s lab.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Bucky told Steve, tone harsh. “I have to go see my _friend_ to see what he wants.”

And he pushed past Steve, out of the room.

 

 

Tony looked up with a grin when Bucky entered, but the grin dropped when he saw Bucky’s face. “What’s going on, Sarge?”

Bucky recapped his conversation with Steve.

Tony huffed. “That _asshole._ Like it’s any of his business.”

“Exactly!” Bucky said. “Now, what’d you need?”  
Tony grinned. “I’m so glad you asked. Friday, the big reveal?”

One of the Iron Man suits, in sentry mode, walked over, holding a large metal case.

“Open it,” Tony told him.

Inside the case, sat…

“Tony,” Bucky breathed. “Is this…?”

“Your new arm!” Tony announced. “Finished it this morning. It’s just the Mark I, mind you, I already have upgrades in mind. How do you feel about-…?”

“It’s perfect,” Bucky said, running a hand over the metal.

It was a lot similar looking to the one he had on, but the metal was different (“I stole some Vibranium from Ultron’s supply, so…”) and when he picked it up it was much lighter. The plates were invisible when the arm was straight out, only coming into view when the joints shifted.

“It has a damage-resistant coating, so no scratches or anything should happen, and it’s temperature controlled, because the other night I noticed your arm gets _super fucking cold,_ and-…”

“Tony,” Bucky sighed. “Thank you. Honestly, thank you _so much.”_

Tony shifted. “No prob. What are friends for?”

 

 

Tony broke the sad news a few minutes later. “We can’t actually install it,” he said.

“What?” Bucky asked, heartbroken.

“Not yet, anyway. We need a surgeon. Multiple surgeons, actually, and I haven’t found one I like. I wanna use Cho, but she’s still reeling from Ultron.” He swallowed, then added, “And we also need _Hydra_ files, on how the original installation was done, so that we can safely remove _that_ arm.”

“Well,” Bucky said. “ _That_ I can help with.”

 

 

They spent the rest of the week using the web to try and poke their way into Hydra’s files.

“They have a sort of cloud storage,” Bucky told Tony. “Everything’s heavily coded, disguised as things like picture files and stuff. Executables, too. You access the hub, and break the code, you get everything Hydra’s got that’s not on paper.”

“Seems risky,” Tony said.

“That’s why there’s so many safeguards,” Bucky said. “If a non-Hydra computer accesses it, the hub detects it. It’ll destroy the hard drive with an unstoppable virus.”

Tony snorted. “ _Unstoppable._ Friday, does that sound like a challenge, to you?”

“It does, sir.”

Bucky laughed. He loved his friends.

 

 

“So,” Wanda asked, at breakfast one day. “You’re…bisexual?”

Bucky blinked. “Um, yeah.”

“And you’ve slept with Barton, Romanov, and Stark.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Just the first two.”

“Uh-huh,” Pietro drawled from next to her. “We believe that.”

“Hush,” Wanda said. “I was just…we were wondering…”

Pietro rolled his eyes. “There is parade, next week. _Pride._ We have never seen parades. We would like to go.”

“But I thought you two were straight?” Bucky asked.

Pietro shrugged. “I do not know.”

Wanda shrugged as well. “I’ve never really thought about it. Neither of us has.”

Bucky softened a bit. “Well…okay, if you want.”

After all, _everyone_ should get to go to at least _one_ parade.

He’d never been, either.

 

 

By the time the day of the parade rolled around, almost every Avenger in the building had asked to come with.

Natasha and Clint wanted to come because they wanted to watch how Bucky reacted.

Tony wanted to go because he was _also_ bisexual, and he liked those things.

Vision said that it could be a good bonding exercise for the team, and requested to come with.

“Public Avengers outing, to a _Pride parade,”_ Tony said. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Great things,” Bucky replied. “Is…Is Steve coming?”

“Dunno,” Tony said. “You can ask?”

 

 

“Steve?” Bucky called, stepping into the Captain’s room.

“Yeah?” Steve called back. He was apparently drawing.

“Do you wanna go out with us?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Who’s _us_?”

“Uh. Everyone but you, basically.”

Steve shrugged. “Where?”

“A parade,” Bucky said. “Pride. It’s for…LGBT stuff.”

“You actually learned that acronym?” Steve said. “It took me ages.”

Bucky shrugged. “It applies to me, that makes it easier to learn.”

Steve smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll come with.”

 

 

The Avengers tried to dress inconspicuously, but quickly realized it was pointless: they were _going_ to be recognized, no matter what, especially with Vision coming.

“I could stay,” Vision said. “If you would rather enjoy the outing without being spotted.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Team building, you said it yourself. Let’s go get the press talking.”

 

 

The parade was in full swing when they arrived. People were flooding the street, bands were playing – it was generally chaotic. 

Bucky felt oddly alive.

Vision was spotted first. “Is that the _Avengers?”_ somebody called out, and instantly, they were _swarmed._

“Careful, easy,” Steve said, holding his hands up to placate the crowd. “We’re just here to have a good time, guys.”

Wanda and Pietro looked ready to bolt, so Bucky slung his arms around their shoulders. “Relax. We’re the most invisible. If you keep quiet, we can probably slip away when they start signing autographs.”

Wanda grinned up at him, and Pietro’s shoulders relaxed under his arm.

Bucky pulled off them, moving to Tony, and whispering his plan into the man’s ear.

Tony nodded once, and then called everyone over to him, with a “Who wants something signed, while we’re here?”

And with that as his cue, Bucky looped his arms back around the twins, and dragged them off into the crowd.

 

 

He found the merch area, where booths were set up selling shirts and stuff.

“Do you have money?” Wanda asked. “I don’t.”

Bucky dug into his pocket for his wallet. “Tony gave me a card? Is there an ATM?”

And so they went on an ATM hunt. When they found one, Bucky realized that he could take literally _any amount_ of money off the card, and pulled $300 in cash, which he divided among them, $100 each.

“Go nuts, kids,” he told them, and they grinned back.

Distantly, Bucky wondered if they’d ever bought something for themselves like that. That thought made his chest hurt, so he dropped it immediately.

He trailed behind them as they went to the first booth, which was selling shirts.

They both thumbed through the designs, and Bucky watched them with a smile, reading the shirts from a distance.

“Your kids?” the lady at the booth asked.

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Just watching ‘em,” he told her.

“More like our grandfather,” Pietro joked.

“Hey, watch it,” Bucky said. “No old man jokes when I’m being nice.”

“Don’t look old to me,” the lady said. “What are you, thirty?”

“Twenty-seven,” Bucky said.

“Ninety-seven,” Wanda piped up. “Grandpa.”

The woman quirked an eyebrow, and he shrugged back. “They think they’re funny.”

She seemed to accept that explanation, which was good, because the twins had gotten bored and were wandering to the next booth.

Bucky waved goodbye to the booth woman, and followed after them.

 

 

“Hey look,” Bucky said, pointing at a booth in the distance, after they’d been to about five. “Toys.”  
Wanda perked up a bit. “Something _other_ than shirts, you mean?”

They walked over.

Bucky started laughing immediately: front and center, on the booth, were small action figures, labeled “Bisexual Avengers.”

Wanda giggled at them, picking them up one by one. “Look, they got the Captain’s grumpy face.”

Sure enough, the stern look of the action figure was spot on.

Bucky laughed harder.

She picked up the Tony figure. “You should get this one.”   
“I’m not _dating_ him, for the last time,” Bucky insisted.

“Holy shit,” the man at the booth said. “You guys are – you’re – the _New Avengers_!”

Bucky held a finger to his lips. “Nope. We’re just people enjoying their _Pride_.”

The man leaned back in his chair. “I can respect that. But please, take something from here, anything you like. It’s on me.”

Wanda and Pietro looked happy about it, so Bucky didn’t protest, even though the notion made him uneasy.

There were more than just toys, at the booth – there were also books, and other “hobby” things.

Wanda chose a book about questioning your identity, which Bucky assumed meant sexuality and gender – otherwise, he’d have snatched it up. God knows he didn’t know who he was beyond those subjects.

Pietro chose a little dragon statuette, and then they were both looking at him.

“Oh, I don’t need anything,” Bucky tried to say, but the man at the booth leaned forward.

“No one _needs_ hobby stuff,” he said. “But you gotta have something to do when you’re not busting bad guys.”

Bucky looked at the books, and then pointed at them. “Any recommendations?”

The man grinned. “Not in books, but I have a DVD?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sure.”

The man handed him a box.

_Steven Universe: Box Set (Seasons 1-3)_

Bucky blinked at it. “This is… a show?”

“A cartoon,” the man said. “But don’t write it off. That shit’ll make you _cry.”_

Bucky laughed. “I don’t really need much help with that. I’m a huge baby.”

The man snorted. “I’ll remember that. But seriously, watch it. ASAP. It’s great.”

Bucky was starting to hate his brain, because it responded to the “ASAP” with a simple _Mission parameters accepted._

 

 

They said their thanks and goodbyes and wandered off again, but didn’t get far before they heard Steve shouting their names.

They stopped, turning to see the rest of the Avengers approaching.

“You shouldn’t run off,” Steve scolded them. “We came as a group, we need to stick together.”

“They had an adult,” Bucky protested. “They were safe.”

“It’s not just them I’m worried about,” Steve said.

He and Bucky stared at each other for a second. Feeling awkward, Pietro spoke up, saying, “We met a very nice man and he gave us free things.”

“I got a book,” Wanda confirmed, holding it up to show off.

Pietro held up his dragon.

Bucky lifted his DVDs. “He insisted I watch this show.”

“OH, I’ve been meaning to watch that,” Tony said. “We should have a night of it. All of us gathered ‘round watching children’s TV.”

Everyone seemed to agree that was a good plan, and so, soon, they packed up and left the parade, to go home and watch their new show.

 

 

“I see why this was being sold at _Pride,”_ Bucky announced, halfway through season one.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, popping popcorn into his mouth (he’d made some after about three episodes). “Lots of gay ladies.”

“Are they even ladies?” Clint asked. “They’re _crystals._ They could just be genderless.”

“Still gay,” Tony declared.

They made it all the way through the show, but the further they got, the more people started crying.

When they got to Pearl singing _It’s Over, Isn’t it,_ Bucky almost had to quit watching. They ended up taking a dinner break after that episode to regroup.

When they finished the show, Bucky clicked through the _Extras_ menu, and found a supercut of the full ending theme.

It about killed him.

Not only because it made the show hurt so much, but because he _related to it_ so hard.

He sniffed, shutting it off. “Okay,” he said, choked. “We’re _never doing that again.”_

“Agreed,” Tony rasped.

 

 

Bucky replayed the supercut again that night, listening closely to the lyrics.

_I always thought I might be bad, now I’m sure that it’s true // ‘Cause I think you’re so good, and I’m nothing like you…_

Well, Bucky thought.

He was never listening to strangers’ advice again.

 

 

Breakfast the next day found Wanda cooking herself a pancake and humming _Stronger Than You,_ to which Bucky put his foot down.   
“I’m banning that show,” he said. “I don’t _like_ being sad, thanks.”

Wanda pouted about it, so Bucky relented. “Okay, but _happy songs only.”_

She resumed humming.

 

One day, he was gonna learn to say _no._

 

“So,” Tony said, after most of the Avengers had left the kitchen at the end of breakfast, leaving just him, Bucky, and Steve.

“So?” Bucky prompted.   
“You’re good with kids,” Tony observed.

Bucky frowned. “Not really.”

“Please,” Tony said. “The Barton twerps both liked you, especially Lila. Speedy Gonzales and Mind Fuck both like you. Face it, you’re good with kids.”

Bucky shrugged. “I guess. And pick better nicknames, honestly.”

“Do you _want_ kids?” Tony asked.

Steve suddenly looked _very_ uncomfortable.

“Uh,” Bucky said. “I dunno. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Why not?” Tony said.   
“Can’t have ‘em.”

Tony shrugged. “Sure you can. You could retire, settle down, do whatever.”

“No, I mean – I _physically can’t._ Hydra sterilized me.”

Tony blinked. “Oh. That…that sucks.”

Bucky finished off his protein shake. “It doesn’t really bother me. I couldn’t back out of fighting if I wanted to, and thinking about pulling what Clint is – risking my life when I have kids at home – that is just…it sits wrong with me.”

“That’s fair,” Tony said. And then, “I found a surgeon.”

Steve straightened up in his chair. “You’re getting surgery?”

“Tony built me a new arm,” Bucky told him. “I’m getting mine replaced.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Steve asked.

“Um, Hydra built it,” Bucky said. “That’s really it.”

“That seems like a small reason to endure a whole surgery,” Steve said.

Bucky frowned. “ _You_ don’t have Hydra property hanging off your body, of course you don’t get it.” Then, to Tony, he asked, “Did you access the hub?”

“Working on it,” Tony assured him. “I’m right at the edge of breaking the code.”

“Let me know when you get it,” Bucky said. And then he left the room.

Steve buried his head in his hands.

“Okay, Cap,” Tony said. “I’m gonna regret this, but: what’s up?”

“I keep saying the wrong thing,” Steve complained. “I’m trying to look out for him, but I just keep pushing him further away.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said. “Maybe don’t try so hard.”

Steve looked at him like he was an idiot.   
“No, I’m serious,” Tony said. “He needs _friends,_ not babysitters.”

“Friends like you?” Steve snapped.   
“ _Yeah_ ,” Tony said. “Friends like _me.”_

 

 

Bucky woke up that night, calling out, “Friday, time.”

“2:36 am.”

Bucky combed a hand through his hair. “Where’s Tony?”

“Sleeping, sir.”

“Wake him up. I’m coming up.”

 

 

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Tony,” he said.

“Yeah?” Tony replied sleepily. “This better be good. I was sleeping well.”  
“I remembered something,” Bucky said. “And I don’t know if I want to remember it. If I didn’t hate myself before, I do now.”

Tony looked concerned. “Okay, I’m awake, now. What happened?”  
Bucky had tears in his eyes. “You’ll hate me. Oh, God, you’ll hate me.”

“What’d you do, Bucky?” Tony asked.

“Your dad,” Bucky whispered.

Tony froze. “What about him?”

“He didn’t die in an accident, Tony. He died because _I killed him.”_


	10. Chapter 10

“Leave,” Tony said, voice cold.

“But-…”

_“Leave.”_

Tearing up, Bucky left the room.

 

 

Steve woke up to knocking on his door.

Well, more _pounding,_ really.

He opened the door, and saw Bucky standing there, _crying._

“Whoa, Bucky, you okay?” he asked. “Come in, come on, tell me what’s happening.”

“I killed him,” Bucky sobbed.

Steve felt cold, suddenly. “Who? Bucky, _what did you do?”_

“Howard Stark,” Bucky cried. “He didn’t crash, Steve, I _killed_ him.”

Steve blinked. “Bucky, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, it’s Hydra’s. They _made you_ kill him.”

Bucky shook his head. “I did it, I’m a _monster,_ Tony hates me-…”

Steve sighed. “Tony doesn’t hate you, Buck.”

“Yes, he _does_ ,” Bucky sobbed.

Steve pulled Bucky into a hug. “Shh, Buck, it’s okay. I promise, Tony will forgive you. And if he doesn’t, it’s his problem, not yours. You can help who you used to be. Hydra is to blame, not you.”

Bucky kept crying, so Steve just held him. Eventually, the sobs turned to sniffling, and then…

Snores.

Bucky had cried himself to sleep.

Steve sighed, and laid him down on the bed, tucking him in and laying down beside him.

Maybe he’d feel better in the morning.

 

 

Bucky did _not_ feel better when he woke up.

If anything, he felt _worse_.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said. “You wanna-…”

“No.”

Steve frowned. “You’ve gotta talk to him eventually.”  
“ _Nope_.”

“How about breakfast, then?”

“No.”

Steve sighed, and laid back down next to him. “Fine. We’ll just lay here.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “I don’t want to do anything else.”

They laid around for a few minutes, before Friday interrupted. “Sirs, Sargent Barnes is being requested in the lab.”

Bucky tensed.

“Go get him, Buck,” Steve said. “He can’t be that mad. Like I said, it’s not your fault.”

Bucky sighed and crawled out of bed. “Fine,” he said.

 _Maybe I’ll get lucky,_ he thought, _and he’ll just kill me quickly._

 

 

Tony didn’t look up from his computer when Bucky entered. He just spoke while facing the screen. “I got into the hub.”

Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway. “That’s good.”

“Friday,” Tony said. “Pull up all information on the _assassination_ of Howard Stark.”

“Finding archives,” Friday said, and then several screens filled the room.

On the centermost screen, was _the_ file.

 _His_ file.

Tony pointed at it. “That’s every single scrap of information on the Winter Soldier project, condensed.” He finally looked at Bucky. “Do you want to read it?”

“Please,” Bucky said.

“Well then, come here,” Tony said. “We’ll be at it for a while.”

 

 

They made their way through the whole file that day.

It detailed his conditioning, his training, everything. It listed his passcode.

Tony started to read it out loud, and Bucky stopped him quickly.   
“That’s a conditioning phrase,” he said. “Say the words, and my training kicks in. These past months will have been useless.”

Tony nodded, and then called, “Friday. Delete all history of Barnes’ conditioning phrase.”

“Deleting.”

Bucky turned grateful eyes on Tony. “Thank you.”

Tony shrugged, eyes straight ahead. “What are friends for?”

 

 

They finished the file.

“Shit,” Tony muttered. “I’m sorry.”  
“No, I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “If I had been in control – if I had broken conditioning sooner -…”

“You’d be _dead,”_ Tony said. “Hydra would have killed you without us helping you get free, and you know it.”

Bucky looked away, and Tony put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, Barnes,” he said. “ _Bucky_. My old man had a lot of enemies. Someone would have taken him out, one day, anyway. It’s a fact of life. Honestly, this doesn’t change anything. I just hate Hydra a little more.” He turned Bucky to face him. “I don’t hate you, Bucky. We’re still friends.”

Bucky relaxed. “I won’t let you down, Tony.”

“I don’t have any expectations,” Tony told him. “Just be yourself.”  
Bucky gave a bitter laugh. “That’s about the hardest thing you could ask of me.”

 

 

They were at breakfast about a week later when Friday called their attention to something.

“Mister Stark, an unknown number has been calling your personal line.”

The room fell silent. “Banner?” Natasha asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Tony replied. “Patch it through.”

_Click._

“You’ve reached the Avengers, who needs an ass kicked?” Tony called cheerfully.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice, weak and quiet, came through the line.

“Brucey!” Tony replied. “Where you been, buddy?”

“Uh,” Bruce murmured. “Kazakhstan.”

Tony whistled. “Taking a vacation, without me?”

“Can you just-…” there was shuffling, and then, “Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Tony said immediately. “We’re on our way.”

 

 

 

Bruce was tight-lipped about what had happened in the past few weeks, but Bucky could understand that.

Instead of pressuring him, they caught him up on what had happened with the Avengers.

“You came out, to a room full of reporters?” Bruce asked, awed. “That’s…really brave.”

Bucky laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, it was an accident.”

“How was Pride?”

“Pretty fun. We snuck away from the mobs to check out the booths.”

And so on and so forth, until Bruce was all caught up.

 

 

Thor came a week after that.

There was no warning, just suddenly thunder was rolling and Friday was announcing, “Thor has arrived.”

They all rushed to the roof to meet him, and he had a grim face on.

“How’s the research going, my man?” Tony asked.

“Postponed,” he said. “I just discovered that Loki’s death was faked.”

Everyone froze.

“Oh, _shit,”_ Tony hissed.

 

 

There was only one person left _not_ in the tower, and Tony called her right away.

Within hours, the elevator to the rec floor slid open, and out stepped a pretty strawberry blonde.

“So, who am I to meet?” she asked, looking over the group of gathered Avengers.

“Well, Pep,” Tony said, going to her side and kissing her cheek. “Meet Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, the freak twins; Vision, my new tech-y love child; and Bucky Barnes-…”

“Your replacement,” Clint chimed in.

Bucky flushed. “Ignore him. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Do I wanna know?” She asked, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Everyone thinks we’re dating,” Tony explained. “Just because we have a good bromance.”

Pepper gave a small, amused smile. “Well, if you wanna work out a schedule for sharing, my office is open during regular business hours.”

Bucky groaned. “I don’t, trust me.”

Tony whispered something in her ear, and she beamed. “Oh, really?”

“Oh no,” Bucky murmured. “What did he say?”   
“When I say a secret is safe with me?” Tony said. “I really mean _with me and Pepper.”_

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “You didn’t.”

“What’d I miss?” Clint asked.

“Nothing!” Bucky yelled. “Tony’s just being a _bad friend.”_

“I’m a _great_ friend,” Tony defended. “I just tell Pepper everything.”

“Most things,” Pepper corrected. “Unless it’s that he _hasn’t been sleeping._ Don’t look away, I’ve seen the bags under your eyes. We’ll talk later.”

Tony whined about it for a minute, before Steve asked, “Can we get back to the Loki problem?”

Pepper snapped her head around to look at Steve. “What Loki problem?”

“He’s alive,” Steve said. “And on the loose.”

Pepper sighed. “We need to have a game plan ready, if he attacks.”

They devoted the rest of the evening to planning for an attack on Earth.

 

 

When they had a plan in place for security and everyone was safely in the tower, Pepper broke the rest of the bad news to them.

“You’re getting a lot of bad press,” she said. “I keep hearing people asking about the truth behind Ultron, and about Sokovia, and I have no answers. You guys need to do something distracting, _fast_.”

“Like what?” Steve asked.

“I’m not PR,” she said. “But I suggest you get someone who _is._ Do some volunteering. Make public appearances. Drop some information.” She looked at Bucky. “You coming out gave you a _lot_ of media support, since people love representation, but it’s not gonna last.” She sighed. “I hate to say it, but your best bet is probably doing something _about_ it.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked. “You want him turning up in a gay bar?”

She shrugged. “If he made it look like he was sneaking out and _accidentally_ got his picture taken, then yeah, that could help. You all need to be _humanized_. Go out, have fun, date, do whatever. Just make sure you’re seen doing it.”

 

 

They took her advice right away, and all went out for dinner together at some restaurant downtown that Tony recommended.

The staff pushed two large tables together for them, in the center of the restaurant, and apologized for the lack of privacy.

“It’s no problem,” Steve said, with a smile. “This’ll be fine.”  
Bucky sat between Steve and Tony, and across from Pietro and Wanda, so that he could keep an eye on the twins. Who, by the way they were looking at the menu, had never gone somewhere fancy in their lives.

“These _prices,”_ Wanda murmured.

“I have more money than sense, and dinner’s on me,” Tony reassured her. “Order what you want.”

“So,” Tony said, when they’d ordered. “How do you guys feel about having a ‘We kicked Ultron’s ass’ party?”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Steve asked.

“Never too late for a party,” Tony replied. “What’d’you say?”

“Revels,” Thor said, and Bucky felt like he’d missed a joke.

“Yeah, buddy, _revels,”_ Tony agreed.

“I would like to see a party,” Pietro admitted.

“Are you even twenty-one?” Tony asked.

 “We are twenty-two,” Wanda informed him.

Steve groaned. “I thought you were younger,” he said, “But we’re almost the same age.”

“You’re ninety-five,” Tony said.

“I’m _twenty-_ five.”

“Nah,” Bucky pitched in. “We’re old men, Stevie, give it up.” To Tony, he added, “I’m down for a party. The last one was kind of ruined by killer bots, though, so try not to do that _twice.”_

“Speaking of the last party, do you think you could pick up Thor’s hammer again?” Tony asked. “Because having _three_ people in this little club of ours who are worthy to rule Asgard is just precious.”

Bucky flushed. “I dunno,” he admitted. “I couldn’t even hold it long the first time.”

“Because you thought about it too much,” Bruce said. “But we know now that if you _need_ to lift it, you can, which is good.”

“Back to me, though, which is the important subject,” Tony butted in. “Who wants a party?”

“I already said yes,” Bucky said.

“Me as well,” Pietro said, and Wanda nodded along.   
“If you want,” Steve said.

And they went around the table, agreeing to the party one-by-one.

“New rule, though,” Tony said. “No sneaking away from _this_ party for hot threesomes.”

Clint wagged his eyebrows. “Ooh, he called us _hot.”_

“I think your hearing aids are malfunctioning,” Tony said, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Blushing!” Natasha cried out. “He’s blushing!” 

Pepper laughed at Tony’s side. “It’s okay, Tony, you’re allowed to window shop.”

Bucky buried his face into his hands. “I’m never gonna live screwing you two down.”

“Was it worth it, though?” Clint asked.

“Debatable.”

They were still laughing when their food arrived.

 

 

 

They were in the restaurant for about an hour when someone tapped on Bucky’s arm.

He turned to see a little girl smiling up at him, with wide eyes.

“Amy!” A woman called, running up to the table and pulling the little girl back, before smiling at Bucky. “Sorry, she just wandered over here.”  
“It’s fine,” Bucky said. Then, to the girl, he said, “Your name’s Amy?”

The little girl nodded.

“Mine’s Bucky,” he told her.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Sorry, she’s kind of star-struck,” the woman, who Bucky assumed was her mother, said. “We read in the news that your arm is a prosthetic. Amy, do you wanna show him your leg?”

Bucky blinked, and Amy smiled shyly, pulling up her pants leg to show of a plastic prosthetic.

“Whoa, cool,” Bucky said, acting impressed. The girl giggled in response. On a whim, he shrugged off his jacket, holding down his arm. “Mine’s metal, so it’s really heavy. I bet yours is a lot easier to use.”

She nodded. “It’s real light,” she told him.

“My friend Tony is making me a new arm,” Bucky told her. “This one is gonna be a lot lighter, too, so maybe it’ll be as cool as your leg.” He winked. “I doubt it, though.”

She buried her face into her mom’s leg, blushing.

“Amy,” the mom said, “Why don’t you head back to daddy?”

Amy nodded and took off toward the other end of the restaurant.   
“Thank you, honestly,” the woman said. “It’s great for her to have a hero that’s like her.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s no problem.”

“I’ll let you get back to your meal,” she said.

“Wait,” he asked. “What’s your name?”

The woman tucked her hair behind her ear. “Oh, I’m Kim.”

Bucky extended a hand. “Bucky. Nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand, and then looked toward where Amy was chattering with a middle-aged man. “I should get back. Like I said, I’m grateful for you playing along.”  
“It’s really no hardship,” Bucky assured her. “Enjoy your night.”

“You, too.”

Kim walked away, and Clint let out a low whistle. “Barnes, hitting on married women now.”

Bucky flushed. “I didn’t _hit on_ her.”

“I’m more worried he’s gonna steal someone’s kid,” Tony quipped. “Seriously, we’re gonna have to get you to an adoption agency, get you a brat of your own.”

“Tony wants to have kids with Bucky,” Natasha joked. “Relationship confirmed.”  
“Shut _up,_ Nat,” Bucky groaned.

“Bucky is already sort of a dad,” Wanda said. “To the whole group. Him and Steve both.”

Tony wrinkled his nose. “I’m hoping you’re not including Clint and Nat among his children, because, _gross.”_

Wanda rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious. He takes care of all of us.”

“So do I, nobody calls me _dad,”_ Tony said. Then, “Actually, let’s keep it that way. Steve and Bucky are our gay dads, and that’s final.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

 

 

 

Two days after their dinner outing, Tony came into the living floor’s kitchen for the communal breakfast, like every day, but looked serious while doing it.

“Guys, we have a problem,” he said. “Friday, pull the footage.”

Video clips started playing of some guy in a red suit, _swinging_ from buildings, by...

“Is that _string?”_ Bucky asked. “What kind of string is that strong?”

“Ampullate silk,” Tony said.

“English, please,” Clint said.

“Spider string,” Tony explained.

“So, what, he’s some kind of human spider thing?” Bucky asked. “We have to fight a _human spider?”_

“Not fight him,” Tony said. “He’s a good guy. He’s been taking out small-time baddies, but he’s definitely on our side.”

“So what’s the problem?” Steve asked.   
“The problem is, I tracked him down. Friday, pull records on _Peter Parker.”_

A file appeared, with what looked like a high school yearbook photo.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Clint muttered. “He’s in _high school?”_

“He’s _seventeen,”_ Tony confirmed. “We’ve gotta intervene, or he’s gonna get himself hurt.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “But we can’t out his identity, so how do we reach him?”

“Simple,” Tony said. “He’s a kid genius, fantastic with science, stellar grades, that kind of thing.” He flicked his hand through one of the hologram screens, changing the display to a series of charts and figures. “Introducing the brand new Maria Stark Foundation _Young Scientist_ Grant Program.”

“You’re gonna bribe him into quitting,” Bruce filled in.

“Yep,” Tony said.

“It won’t work,” Bucky said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Wanna share with the class?”

“Kid like that, he’s fighting for a reason,” Bucky said. “No way he’s gonna take the money and bail.” He stood up, asking, “Friday, pull Parker’s file back up.”

After a few minutes of reading, Bucky said, “Let me talk to him.”

“And how do you suppose I get him here?”

Bucky pointed to a spot on his file. “It says here he works for a newspaper. We’re having a party. Parties need _press_.”

There was silence.   
“James Buchanan Barnes, you’re a _genius_ ,” Tony declared.

“I try.”

 

 

Peter Parker came home from school on a Friday afternoon, ready for a quick dinner and then maybe a once-over of the city as _Spiderman,_ and checked the mail, carrying it upstairs.

“Anything good?” Aunt May asked. “Please, no bills.”

Peter sent up the same prayer, flipping through the envelopes, setting aside all the ones addressed to May.

He paused when, at the bottom of the stack, there was a neat-pressed envelope, with the seal of, of all things, _Stark Industries._

He stared at it. At first, he thought it was a mistake, but it was definitely addressed to him. That was his name, _Peter Parker,_ branded on the front.

He ripped the envelope open, and read through the letter inside.

“No way,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Aunt May asked.

He cleared his throat, reading out. _“Congratulations, you’ve been selected, PETER PARKER of THE DAILY BUGLE, to attend a soiree at the Avenger’s Tower as part of a select press team, from an Intern Outreach Program set up by the Maria Stark Foundation to give young media personnel a chance to shine.”_ He looked up at Aunt May. “Holy _crap!”_

She was grinning right back. “You’re going to meet the Avengers!” But then she frowned. “You don’t have anything to wear, do you?”

“I think my tux still fits,” he said, even though he really didn’t want to wear something he’d worn only to a _funeral._

“I’ll buy you a new tie,” May said.

“Aunt May, you don’t have to-…”

“I _want_ to,” she insisted. “And I’m going to.”

Peter sighed, but couldn’t help but get excited.

The actual, real-life _Avengers._

 

 

The next Saturday, the day of the party, rolled around, and Bucky was presented with yet another new suit.

“Tony,” he whined, when he saw it. “I can wear the same thing more than once, you know.” He did a quick inventory. “And there’s only enough space for, like, three knives.”

“I’m weaning you off of your armory,” Tony replied. “And leave the gun in your room!”

Bucky sighed.

Tony _tsk_ ’d at him. “We invited a bunch of young journalists to cover up inviting Parker,” he reminded the super-soldier. “You can’t wave a gun in their faces.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Bucky said. “I was just gonna carry it. At my side. For _safety.”_

“I have the full Iron Legion standing guard tonight,” Tony assured him, and then reached out to straighten his tie. “You’re not in any danger, I promise.”

Pepper stepped out of Tony’s room, looking gorgeous in a red dress. “Okay, boys, how do I look?”

“Like I’m glad I came out as bi and not just gay,” Bucky said immediately. “Otherwise I’d have to reconsider.”

Tony tightened his tie a bit too tight, choking him. “Oops,” he said, in a dry, _‘I’m not really sorry,_ ’ tone. “I’ll fix that.”

“Behave,” Pepper warned.   
“Which one of us?” Bucky asked.

“Both of you.”

They headed to the living floor, where the Avengers were going to gather before arriving at the party all at once.

Natasha’s dress was a short black one, and Clint (actually wearing a button-down for once) had an arm slung around her waist. “Hey, Barnes,” Nat called. “Get over here and tell me how pretty I look.”

“Isn’t that Banner’s job?” Bucky called back, which made Bruce blush.

Thor looked between Bruce and Natasha. “Are the two of you together, now? My sincerest congratulations.”

Natasha was actually a little flushed, and Bruce was straight stuttering.

Bucky grinned at them, and Natasha glared back.

“I’ll get you for that, Barnes,” she warned.

“You know where I sleep,” he replied easily.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Who’re we waiting on?”

“Me.”

Bucky turned, to see Steve sauntering in, and…

_Oh._

He looked _gorgeous._

He was wearing a suit, too, a lot like Bucky’s (though likely without the knife pockets), but the tie and waistcoat were blue, instead of Bucky’s green ones, which brought out his eyes a _lot._

“Christ,” he muttered.   
“What?” Steve asked. “Does it look that bad?”

Tony groaned. “Trust me, it looks _good._ I’m never buying you a suit again, you’ll show me up.”

Steve flushed. “Can we go upstairs, now?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Let’s go before we miss our own event. Remember, the primary goal is to have fun, but we also need to give Bucky a window to talk to Parker.”

“Got it,” Steve said, and everyone else assented.

With that cleared up, they all piled into the elevator, and rode their way up.

 

 

 

Peter stood against the wall in the party room (which was three times the size of his whole apartment, at _least)_ in a slightly too-small suit and _definitely_ too-small shoes, feeling uneasy in the presence of billionaires and celebrities.

So, he just stayed to the side, watching the elevator that he was pretty sure the Avengers would be coming through.

Sure enough, soon, a robotic female voice announced, “The Avengers have arrived,” and the room went quiet as the elevator doors slid open.

At the front of the group was Tony Stark, with his CEO, Miss Potts, on his arm, both of them looking as phenomenal as always. They stepped out, and Tony gave a wave to the room, before they headed toward the bar on the far left wall.

Next stepped out Captain America – or, rather, Steve Rogers – and behind him, Bucky Barnes.

Captain America was smiling politely, but Barnes just looked uncomfortable with all the people staring at him. The Captain headed to go talk to some man who was over by the ‘lounge’ section of the room, but the Winter Soldier didn’t move.

That was, until Hawkeye stepped forward and whispered something in his ear, and steered him away with a hand on his shoulder.

Thor came out after them, followed by Black Widow (who looked _stunning,_ Peter couldn’t help but notice), and then the Hulk. Or, rather, Bruce Banner.

Finally, Vision floated forward, followed by the Maximoff twins whose names Peter had trouble remembering. _Pietro, and Wanda,_ he reminded himself. It wouldn’t do to accidentally call them the wrong name.

Thor lifted a glass into the air, over by the bar, and called out, “May the festivities begin!”

And just like that, the party had started.

 

 

Peter was going to _die._


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky decided if Parker was not, in fact, the primary goal, which Tony had declared to be _have fun,_ then he should probably not start the night with the teen.

Instead, he walked to the bar, where Thor was pulling out a small flask and pouring a few drops into a glass of what appeared to be whiskey.

“Whatcha doin’ there, bud?”

Thor grinned at him. “Asgardian ale,” he explained, holding up the flask. “I introduced Captain Rogers to it at our last party, though he would not drink it. A few drops could destroy a mortal man.”

Bucky smirked. “Sounds like my kind of stuff.”

Thor pushed his doctored whiskey toward Bucky. “Be my guest, Sargent Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky,” Bucky insisted, and took a swig.

It was…sweeter, than regular alcohol. And _strong._ “Holy _shit,”_ he swore, bringing a hand to tingling lips. “That’s some good stuff.”

“Indeed,” Thor said, pouring himself a glass of it. “I find it mixes well with mortal ales.”

“That it does,” Bucky agreed. “That, it does.”

 

 

Bucky finished the whole glass, and had Thor fix him another one, before he pushed off the bar to wander the room.

His head felt…lighter, somewhat, and Bucky tried to remember what being _drunk_ felt like. He was pretty sure it wasn’t like what was happening now. This, he decided, was probably _tipsy._

Which meant, if he finished the drink in his hand, he’d probably be full-on drunk.

_Excellent._

Some people were dancing, in the little space that had been designated as a dance floor, and Bucky found himself wanting to join them.

And then, he realized, he _could._

He just had to find a partner.

Clint was sprawled out on a couch, chatting to a small gathering of people, so Bucky left him be.

Tony and Pepper were together, chatting up another couple, so Bucky ignored them, too.

Bruce and Natasha had their heads together, and Thor was…Thor… so they were all out.

The twins were glued to a wall, and Bucky didn’t even really think about asking either of them. Vision, either.

That left…

“Stevie,” Bucky said, approaching the man and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Whatcha up to?”

Steve sniffed the air. “Are you _drunk?”_

Sam had been talking to Steve before Bucky arrived, but was now staring at the super-soldiers with concern. “I thought you two couldn’t get drunk.”   
“I’m not,” Bucky insisted, lifting his drink. “See, I’m not even finished.”

“That glass is empty,” Sam said.

Bucky looked at the glass. It was. “Oh. Shit, yeah, I’m drunk.”

Steve sighed. “You had Thor’s stuff, didn’t you?”

“It’s really good,” Bucky defended.

“Did you forget you had a job to do, tonight?” Steve asked.

Shit. _Parker_. “Um, yes?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get Tony, tell him we’ll have to change the plan-…”

“No, wait,” Bucky said. “I can still do it. Just, dance with me first.”

“What?”

“Dance with me,” Bucky insisted. “I wanna dance, and everyone’s busy.”

Steve sighed. “Fine. _One_ dance, and then you’re talking to Parker.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” Bucky agreed, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, dragging him onto the floor.   
“I’ll just wait here,” Sam called after them.

The song _Shame, Shame, Shame_ played, and Bucky danced with Steve through the whole thing. At first, Steve was barely responsive, but eventually he relaxed into it and joined the motions.

A waiter passed by, and Bucky handed him his empty glass, before pulling Steve in close.

“Bucky, there are too many reporters-…”  
“Don’t care,” Bucky replied, humming along to the song. “Think I won’t dance with you, ‘cause people are watching. I’ll _propose_ to you in front of reporters. Think I won’t.”

Steve flushed pink. “I think you’d regret that.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, Buck, don’t-…”

Bucky was already dropping to a knee. “Steve Rogers,” he declared loudly, “Will you-…”

“Shut you up?” Steve replied, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him back up. “Yes, I will.”

“He said yes!” Bucky called joyfully, and the gathered crowd whooped.

“Shit,” Steve groaned, dropping his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “The PR team is gonna _hate_ us.”

“Watch your fucking _language_ ,” Bucky replied.

 

 

Peter Parker was frozen.

He’d just – did he really just _see_ that?

He looked around, and everyone else seemed to be murmuring about the same thing.

The Winter Soldier had just _proposed_ to Captain America.

And Captain America, apparently, had said _yes._

And now they were all tucked into each other, swaying cutely in a dance on the dance floor.

Peter let out a slow breath.

This night could not get _any_ weirder.

 

 

The dance ended, and Steve pulled away, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “Sober up, some, and go talk to Parker, okay? And then we’ll deal with your hungover ass in the morning.”

Bucky nodded, and swaggered his way to the bar. “Can I get some water?” he asked.   
“Ask nicely,” Natasha replied.

“ _Please.”_

Natasha poured him a water and handed it over, and he downed it immediately.

“How’d you even-…”

“Thor,” Bucky said.   
“Ah,” she said. “You know you’re gonna get made fun of _so hard_ tomorrow for this, yeah?”

“By you?”

“By all of us.” She leaned onto the bar, whispering, “Parker’s on the wall at your six. Get him before he runs.”

Bucky pushed off the stool, and headed out.

_Mission parameters accepted._

 

 

Peter looked up to see the Winter Soldier, walking like a man on a mission.

Toward _him._

He looked around quickly, trying to see what the man was after, but he was nowhere near _anything_.

When he looked about front, Barnes was standing in front of him. “S-Sargent Barnes, Winter Soldier, sir,” Peter stuttered out. “C-Can I help you?”

The Soldier reached forward, and Peter flinched, but when he opened his eyes back up, the man was just holding up his press badge. “Peter Parker, _Daily Bugle,”_ the Winter Soldier read off.

“Y-yes, sir.”

And then a grin slowly spread across the Soldier’s face. “Did you catch my _totally awesome_ proposal?”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Congratulations, sir.”

It was then that Peter identified the weird smell in the air: some kind of alcohol.

The Winter Soldier was _drunk._

 _Great_.

“Come with me, let’s wedding plan,” the Soldier said, and started walking away, waving for Peter to follow.

He considered his options.

He could stay, and offend the scary New Avenger that could probably kill him with a _thought._

Or, he could go, and possibly get murdered by the drunk New Avenger that could, again, probably kill him by _breathing._

Peter sighed, and followed.

 

 

Bucky lead Peter out of the party room to the game room, and flopped down in a chair at the cards table, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Get cozy.”

Peter sat down, looking tense.

Bucky wiped the happy grin off his face and switched into full Winter Soldier mode, leaning forward onto the table, folding his hands together – making sure the metal hand was visible. “Parker,” he greeted. “What’d’you call the other guy?”

Parker looked terrified, and he was _shaking._ “I-I don’t know what that means, sir.”

“The spider dude,” Bucky said, watching Peter freeze up. “Yeah, we figured that out. You’re not very subtle, redsuit.”

“I-I don’t- I’m _not-…”_

Bucky gave his best cold smile, and Parker shut up instantly.

“…Spiderman,” Parker finally said. “I call him _Spiderman.”_

Bucky shrugged. “Better than some names. But, here’s the deal: stop it.”  
Parker blinked, then frowned. “Sir?”

“You’re seventeen, yeah?” Bucky asked, and Parker nodded. “High school? Thinking about college?” Parker nodded again. “You can’t do any of that if you’re _dead.”_

Parker’s eyes went wide, and the shaking returned. “A-are you threatening me?”

“ _I’m_ not gonna kill you,” Bucky told him. “Who do you think I am? An assassin.”  
Ha. Assassin. He laughed.

Parker looked ready to bolt.

“No, but seriously,” Bucky said. “There’s a lot of bad people in the world, and if any of them catch wind of you, you could be dead in a heartbeat.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir, but…” Parker said. “But I _have_ to do this. If I don’t, people get hurt. And if people get hurt because of me, whether it’s because I brought them in or because I didn’t do anything to help-… I can’t live with that. I _can’t.”_

Bucky tipped his head, and then, pulled out his phone, hitting the speed-dial button for Tony’s phone.

“One sec,” he told Parker. “Don’t move.”

 

 

Peter was going to throw up.

The Winter Soldier was _terrifying,_ and he knew who Peter was.

And now he was making some phone call, to God knows who, and Peter could do nothing about it.

Oh, God, he was a _vigilante._ He could be _arrested._ The Soldier could be calling the _police._

But then, whoever he called answered, and Bucky said, “Tony, get down here. Game room.”

Peter listened closely, and heard Tony Stark reply, _“Should I bring your new fiancé?”_

The Soldier gave a wicked grin. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”

 

 

The doors opened about a minute later, and Tony Stark and Steve Rogers strolled in.

Peter was surrounded, and he was _doomed._

“Is this about what I _think_ it’s about?” Steve asked. “Because if so, I’m voting _no.”_

Peter was lost.

“I dunno,” Tony said. “Should we pull the footage again? It wasn’t bad stuff. He could be useful.”

Peter was really, _really_ lost.

He turned to the Winter Soldier, to see him making the most…horrifying face. It was a pout, sort of, and he was batting his eyelashes at Captain America. “Pleeease, Stevie? Just think about it.” And then, “The twins could use a friend.”

“They’re five years apart,” the Captain said. “ _You’re_ as close to their age as he is.”

“I’m _seventy-five_ years older, technically,” the Winter Soldier said.

Peter really wasn’t sure if the _drunk_ thing was an act or not. “I’m sorry, sirs, really,” Peter stuttered out. “But what’s going on?”

“Join the Avengers,” the Winter Soldier said.

“ _No,_ Bucky,” Captain America said back.

Peter blinked. “S-Seriously? I could _do_ that?”

Stark shrugged. “Maybe not active duty, to use military terms. Reserve, or whatever. You could come in occasionally, help me out in the lab or something, do your own thing the rest of the time. We’d just offer sanctuary, backup, that sort of thing.”

“T-that sounds _amazing,”_ Peter breathed. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Apparently, neither could the Captain. “It sounds _risky._ Son, look, you really out to just back out now-…”  
“Not gonna work,” the Winter Soldier said. “Already tried.”

“Yeah, but you’re _drunk,_ so we’ll deal with you _later.”_

Peter sunk down in his seat. So the drunk thing _wasn’t_ an act, and Captain America was very, _very_ mad about it.

“You’re outvoted, Cap,” Stark said. “Just let the kid be a superhero.”

Captain America huffed, and threw his hands into the air. “Alright. Fine. But if this goes wrong, it’s on _your_ head.”

“Isn’t everything?” Stark replied. Then, to Peter, he said, “Welcome to the team, kid.”

Peter’s heart stopped.

He was an _Avenger._

 

 

One by one, all four men (or, three men and a boy) returned to the party.

Bucky was greeted upon re-entry by Sam Wilson, who looked _pissed._

“Did you seriously just drunkenly propose to Steve, in the middle of a party?” he asked.

“Didn’t _just,”_ Bucky said, because he was a through-and-through smartass. “That was, like, ten minutes ago.”

“I’d tell you how stupid that was,” Sam said, “But I get the feeling that once you’re sober, you’ll figure it out yourself. And I’m praying you didn’t just ruin your friendship.”

And the man stormed off.

Bucky sighed. Everyone was _yelling_ at him. It was _exhausting._

Then there was an arm around his shoulder. “Sargent Barnes!” Thor bellowed. And, then, correcting himself, “ _Bucky_. Congratulations on your newfound engagement.”

“Thanks, big guy,” Bucky said, leaning into Thor’s side. “Everyone’s mad about it.”

“Why would they be angered by such a joyous occasion?” Thor questioned.

“Maybe they’re jealous,” Bucky laughed. “Hey, do you have any more of that…”

Thor pulled out his flask, tipping it upside down. Nothing so much as dripped. “I have finished it.”

“Lame,” Bucky said. “Explains why you’re happy, though.”

“Tonight is a night for celebration. I could not resist indulging.”

“Speaking of indulging,” Bucky slurred out. “Where’s my _fiancé?”_

 

 

Steve was fuming, and ready for the party to end, so that he could go box the anger out in the gym.

He was ready to just say _fuck it_ and leave, when an arm looped around his waist.

He turned to look, ready to scold Tony for being touchy, only to see Bucky.

He locked his jaw and looked straight ahead again. “Not in the mood, Buck.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky said, pressing against Steve’s side. “ _Get_ in the mood. It’s a party, let’s _party.”_

“Are you...?” Steve looked down at his friend. “Bucky, are you _propositioning me?”_

Bucky stared blankly.

Right, _drunk_ Bucky. Small words, then. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

Bucky grinned up at him. “If you wanna.”

That was the last straw. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

Bucky protested, but Steve didn’t stop to listen. He just unwrapped Bucky’s arm from around him and marched out of the party room, down to the gym floor.

He had some frustrations to work out.

 

 

Bucky retreated back to the bar after being rejected, and asked Natasha for another water.

“Not enough water in the world to prevent the hangover _you’re_ gonna get,” she said, but fixed him a glass anyway. “What’s with the face, anyway?”

“Steve won’t fuck me,” he whined.

Natasha choked. “I’m sorry, repeat that?”

Bucky just glared at her. “You heard me.”

She laughed, patting his shoulder. “Because you embarrassed him, and you’re drunk. That’s two strikes against you.”

“I thought I got three,” Bucky whined.

“You probably pissed him off with something else, too, but I haven’t been tailing you, so who knows.”

Bucky put his head in his hands. “Where’s Clint?”

“He bailed while you were out of the room talking to Parker,” she told him. “You wanna get fucked that bad, you’re stuck with-…Well, me.”

Bucky grinned. “You’ll do.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You really know how to woo a girl. Come on, Barnes – let’s go someplace _interesting_.”

 

 

Bucky woke the next morning, and immediately shot out of bed, heading into the bathroom to throw up.

Hands knitted into his hair, holding it back while he vomited. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“No prob,” Natasha replied. Then, “What do you remember, from last night?”

“Uh,” Bucky thought back.

And then he remembered _everything._

“Oh, fucking hell,” he groaned. “Steve must _hate_ me.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Natasha said. “But our PR team _definitely_ does.”

She then left the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “Take a shower, I’ve got you some clothes in here.”

 

 

After bathing and getting dressed, he slinked down to the living floor, into the kitchen.

The room went quiet when he entered.

And, then, Tony started applauding.

Bucky winced at the noise, covering his ears. “Yeah, I get it,” he groaned. “I’m fucking stupid. Do you have Aspirin?”

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen, it’s better for you,” Bruce said, and went to dig in the cabinet.

Bucky slumped down into a chair, keeping his eyes covered to block the light. “Thor,” he groaned. “Never give me alcohol again.”  
Thor grunted back. “I empathize with your pain. I, too, overindulged last night.”

“At least you didn’t propose to anyone,” Clint quipped.

Bucky lowered his hand from his eyes to glare at the archer.

“Yikes, that’s a look that could kill,” Clint said.

“Speaking of that,” Bucky muttered. “Where’s Steve?”

Tony cleared his throat. “He’s, um. He’s been in the gym.” A beat. “…All night.”

Bucky groaned. “I _fucked_ _up._ So hard. How do I even fix that?”

“You can start with, ‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’” Bruce suggested, returning with the medicine and handing it over with a glass of water. “That usually helps.”

“Not with this, Bruce,” Bucky sighed. “Not with this.”

 

 

Someone entered the gym, just as Steve sent yet another punching bag flying across the room.

That was his fifth of the night.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice came from behind him.   
“Yeah, well,” Steve said, hanging the next bag. “Sorry doesn’t stop the media from leaking news of the engagement we don’t actually have.”

A sigh, and the sound of shuffling. Steve didn’t turn around, just resumed punching.

“I’m never drinking again,” Bucky said. “I clearly can’t be trusted.”

“No, you can’t.” _Punch, punch, punch._

“And I’m sorry about sort of forcing the Parker thing on you. I should’ve brought it up later, to the whole group, instead of cornering you.”

“That would’ve been better, yeah.” _Punch. Punch-punch. Punch._

A frustrated groan. “Steve, talk to me, _please_.”

Steve stopped punching, spinning to look at Bucky. “And say _what,_ Buck? You got drunk, you got stupid, you did some dumb things. Do you want me to say it’s all okay? Because it’s _not._ You crossed a line, Bucky.”

Bucky stared at him for a second, before muttering, “Is it really so bad? For people to think we’re together?”

Steve huffed. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, you’re trying to spin this to be _my_ fault,” Steve said. “When _you_ screwed up. Don’t play the victim, here.”

Bucky frowned. “So, when I want to ignore everything that’s happened, you tell me _it’s okay to be upset about it,_ but when I actually bring something up, I’m ‘playing the victim’?”

“We’re not talking about Hydra,” Steve said. “This is different.”

“No, it’s really not that different at all,” Bucky said. “Because I got drunk, okay? And I made a mistake. I make a _lot_ of mistakes, but last night, I made a pretty big one, very publicly. And now you’re saying that even though I wasn’t in total control – because I wasn’t, I was _drunk_ – that I can’t even begin to redeem myself for it. Do you know how that sounds, to a guy who literally _lives_ for redemption?”

“You’re twisting my words,” Steve protested. “I didn’t say I’d never forgive you. I’m allowed to be pissed off.”

“Why? What’d I do?” Bucky said. “I asked you to marry me. We can tell everyone I was drunk and playing a joke and it’s over, just like that. But no, you’re _embarrassed._ So, I’m gonna ask again: what’s so bad about me, that you’re so ashamed when people think you might want me?”

“Buck,” Steve breathed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Bucky glared at him. “Clearly not _anyone.”_

They stared at each other for a second, before Bucky deflated, looking to the floor. “I’m _sorry,_ Steve. I really am. But I don’t- I _can’t-…”_

“What?” Steve asked. “What can’t you do, Buck?”

“I can’t help but get the feeling you think you’re too good for me.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Buck, _no,_ never-…”

“It feels that way!” Bucky said. “Ever since you got the serum, you don’t need me anymore!”

Silence.

“You remember?” Steve asked.

“Most stuff, these days,” Bucky said. “And you know what I remember? Before the war, you used to look at me like I was everything. And then…” Bucky sniffed. “Then something changed, and you just…stopped. I wasn’t necessary anymore. I was an afterthought.”

“No, Bucky,” Steve protested. “You were never an afterthought. You were _always_ important to me.”

“Not important enough,” Bucky said. “Face it, Steve, I’m selfish. I hate taking second place. Second to the war, to America, to your damned pride.” _To Peggy Carter,_ he didn’t say. “I just wanna be first. I wanna be as important to you as you are to me.”

And then Bucky left the room.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky told Friday to blast the songs from _Angry Bisexual Mixtape,_ and flopped onto his bed.

 _It’s Been a Long, Long Time_ started playing, and Bucky huffed. “Not that one. Something less…happy.”

“Playing something pathetic,” Friday quipped.

“Thanks, Friday,” Bucky replied dryly.

 _Fourth of July_ started playing, and Bucky sighed. “Not quite what I had in mind, but okay.”

He listened to the whole song, and then had her play _The Kids Aren’t Alright._

“Sir, Captain Rogers has reached your shared floor.”

“Lockdown my room,” Bucky replied.

There was a series of clicks, signaling she’d listened.

“Do you intend to wallow all day, sir?” Friday asked, in her condescending Irish accent.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky told her. “You can let Tony know where I am, but keep everyone else away.”

“Of course, sir.”

 

 

Dinner rolled around, and the Avengers sat around the table, with the exception of one glaring absence.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked.

“Moping,” Tony replied. “He and Cap got into a lover’s spat.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve sighed. “Me and Bucky _argued_ , is what he means.”

“You still mad about his touching proposal?” Clint asked. “I thought it was cute.”

“It’s more than that,” Steve said. “I think he’s madder at me now than I am at him.”

Natasha straightened up in her seat. “Why? What’d you say?”

“I didn’t say _anything_ ,” he said. “Bucky just- he remembered some stuff, and got upset.”

“Well, whatever he ‘just remembered,’” Tony said. “He’s got his whole room on _lockdown.”_

“Yikes,” Clint said. “Yeah, I’m not buying what you’re selling there, Cap. What’d you do?”

Steve sighed. “He thinks I’m ashamed of him.”

“I wonder what gave him that impression,” Tony quipped.

“Shut _up,_ Stark, I’m _not,”_ Steve said. “I just- I don’t like the idea of there being a whole rumor that we’re getting _married._ He doesn’t even like me that way.”

Everyone stared at Steve for a second, and then Clint groaned. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I’m pretty sure he wants to bone you,” Natasha told him.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, _maybe,_ but lately he seems interested in _everybody.”_

Clint whistled. “Did you just call him a _slut?”_

“What?” Steve said, flushing. “No, that’s not what I-…”

“I think you did,” Natasha said slowly. “And I suggest you take it _back.”_

“Seriously, Steve, not cool,” Tony said.

Steve let out a noise of frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how _did_ you mean it?” Bruce asked, and Steve looked at him with betrayal.

“Seriously, Bruce?”

“It’s an honest question.”

“Just,” Steve combed a hand through his hair. “I think he’s using sleeping with people as a coping mechanism.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, “I got that when I fucked him. Way to be behind.”

Steve glared, and Natasha muttered, “Maybe _not_ the time.”

Steve huffed out a breath. “I don’t want him just…doing whatever, because he’s lonely. He needs someone who _cares_ about him.”

“So ask him out, _Christ_ , it’s not difficult,” Clint said.

Steve flushed again. “I didn’t mean _me.”_

They all stared at him for a second, and Natasha announced, “Gee, I wonder where he gets the impression you don’t care.”

Steve groaned, burying his face into his hands. “I give up. How do I fix this?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Tony said. “Friday, pull up the plan.”

 

 

_They took our love, and they filled it up // Filled it up with Novocain and now I’m just numb_

Bucky hummed along, only pausing when Friday cut the music off completely.   
“What gives?”

“Sir, Mister Stark has overridden my protocols. Captain Rogers is on his way to see you.”

“Tell him he’s a traitor,” Bucky huffed. “See if I dance with _him_ again.”

There was a pause. “Mister Stark said to inform you to, I quote, ‘look pretty.’”

Bucky had her pass on a message for _exactly_ what Stark could do to himself, at that.

Steve stepped into his room a few minutes later, and Bucky propped himself up to eye him down.

“What is it?”

Steve was flushed. He held out a StarkPad without meeting Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky reluctantly took it, flicking through the screens. “Are these…?”  
“Wedding plans,” Steve said.

Bucky frowned, glaring up at Steve. “Is this a _joke_?”

Steve frowned back. “ _No._ The PR team – and most of the Avengers – want us to actually go through with it. Good press, they said, and we don’t have to make you look stupid by admitting you were completely wasted.”

Bucky pushed the tablet back. “Fuck _them._ What do _you_ want? Do you wanna get fake married just to appease some reporters?”  
“It’s not fake,” Steve said, quietly. “Just…platonic.”

Bucky’s chest hurt. _Platonic._ He didn’t stand a chance.

But…

He was never gonna find anyone he loved like he loved Steve.

If this was his only shot…

He’d be damned if he missed it.

“Well,” Bucky sighed. “This sucks.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”  
“Rings go on the _left_ hand,” Bucky said. “Mine’s metal. Nothing will look right. You’re gonna have your work cut out for you.”

Steve gave a small smile. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

 

 

Steve actually got Bucky to come out of his room, after that, and they met up with the others back in the kitchen.

“How’d _Proposal, Mark II_ go?” Tony asked, when they entered.

“I’m not getting married in Spring, that’s cheesy,” Bucky replied, in lieu of an answer.

Clint let out a _whoop_ of joy, and the other Avengers made other little congratulatory sounds.

“Okay, tin man, that leaves one thing,” Tony said, clapping his hands together.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Okay, _one,_ never call me that again. Two, what?”

Tony grinned. “We’re going _ring shopping.”_

 

 

Bucky got fully dressed, pulling on his gloves and leather jacket, and he and Tony headed out.

They ended up in an upscale jewelry store, looking at seemingly endless shelves of sparkly gems.

“I don’t even know where to _start,”_ Bucky sighed.

Tony patted his shoulder. “You’re in luck, because I’m an expert in naturally-occurring materials, gemstones included.”

“Hello,” an older woman approached them, smiling wide. “May I help… _Oh,”_ she stared in awe. “You’re – Tony Stark, sir! What brings you here today?”

“Just moral support,” Tony said, nudging Bucky. “He’s ring shopping.”

The woman looked at him, recognizing him slowly. “Sargent Barnes. I saw the news about your proposal, are you here for wedding rings?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “Well, _and_ an engagement ring. Mainly the latter.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t really…plan ahead, yeah?”

She smiled understandingly. “It happens. Do you know what kind of ring Captain Rogers would like?”

Bucky tried to breathe evenly. “Um. Not really? Nothing super fancy, probably – more practical.”

“Inset stones are practical,” she said. “That’s where they’re inside the band, pressed into the actual metal, instead of protruding. It allows for one to use their hands without worrying about bumping the stone and damaging it.” She smiled. “And, of course, all our rings have lifetime maintenance, so if he _does_ damage it, you can simply get it repaired or replaced.”

“That’s good,” Bucky said. “Because he does a lot of stuff, and it’s probably gonna get dinged at least once or twice.”

She nodded. “Would you like to look at our inset ring bands?”

“Yes, please,” he agreed, and she lead them to a counter.

He peered over the edge, looking at the glinting jewels beneath the glass.

Tony leaned over his shoulder, asking, “You think Cap’s more a yellow or white gold guy? Oh, or _rose_ gold. Or we could skip gold, go to, like, _platinum_.”

“White gold,” Bucky said. “Yellow gold is…plain, but gold is traditional. And rose gold is _pink_ , and this whole thing is already gay enough.”

The shopkeeper snorted. “Sorry, that was just…that was funny.”

Bucky gave her a shy smile. “Sorry. I make a lot of jokes at my own expense.”

“Real men can wear pink without feeling threatened,” Tony said.

“Yeah, well, when Pepper pops the question, she can buy you a pink ring,” Bucky said. “This is _my_ engagement, butt out.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my commentary to myself.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. Then, he pointed at a ring. “Can I see that?”

 

 

It took them an _hour_ before Bucky found it.

“What’s the grey stuff in this one?” he asked, pointing at a ring.

“Good catch,” the woman said. “That’s _meteorite_.”

The ring was mostly meteorite, with an outline of white gold, and a square center diamond.

It was beautiful, and simple, and unique.   
Bucky looked to Tony.

Tony grinned at the shop lady. “I think he’s sold. How long will it take to size it?”

“Do you have his ring size?”

Bucky shrugged. “No idea.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Luckily, I had his hand scanned before we came, because I _plan ahead_. He’s about a 10.5.”

“The display is an eleven,” the woman said. “We can size that down immediately. If you’re willing to wait an hour or so, and come back, we’ll have it ready.”

_Excellent._

 

 

Tony and Bucky went and ate lunch and came back, took the ring (Bucky purposely _not_ looking at the price tag when he handed over the card Tony gave him), and went back to the tower with a small velvet box in hand.

“I’m totally making your actual wedding rings,” Tony said. “How do you feel about vibranium? I have a little bit left I need to use up.”

“I picked out the engagement ring, the wedding rings are Steve’s job,” Bucky replied.   
“Good answer,” Tony said. “Very diplomatic. Getting ready to be domestic, I see.”

Bucky shoved Tony’s shoulder in answer.

They walked past a sea of reporters, not even acknowledging all the questions they threw his way, and took the elevator up the living floor.

Bucky’s breath came fast as they reached the game room, where the Avengers were gathered around playing pool. He came to a stop in front of Steve, took a deep breath, and carefully dropped to one knee again.

“You know you could just give me it?” Steve said.   
“Shut up,” Bucky replied, and pulled out the box. “Marry me, asshole.”

“How romantic,” Steve replied. “How can I refuse?”

And he plucked the ring out of the box and slid it onto his finger.

“Damn, Buck,” he said. “This is _gorgeous.”_

“I wanna _see_ ,” Clint whined, abandoning his game of pool to peer over at it, as Bucky got up off the ground. “Oooh, pretty.”

Soon all the Avengers were crowding Steve, checking out Bucky’s choice of ring.

“What’s the grey?” Wanda asked.

Yellow light lit up the room, and Vision announced, “Meteorite.”

“No way,” Clint breathed. “You get _space shit_ to wear? I wanna wear space shit.”

Steve laughed. “Guys, seriously, you’re making it hard to breathe.”

Everyone backed up a bit, and Steve made his way to Bucky, pulling him into a hug. “Thanks, Buck. I love it.”

Bucky buried his face into Steve’s shoulder, and tried to pretend the man had kissed him instead.

 

 

“Blue,” Steve suggested.

“What _kind_ of blue?” Bucky asked. “There’s, like, 400 shades here.”

They were flipping through a book of color palettes, trying to decide on wedding colors.

“Okay, green,” Steve tried.   
“ _Green_ is not a shade, either, Steve,” Bucky informed him. “There’s _True Green,_ and _Forest Green,_ and-…”

“Okay, okay,” Steve laughed. “Back to blue, then.”

“How about… Turquoise?” Bucky said, pointing to a swatch of said color.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said.

“And royal blue,” Bucky added. “A dark and a light color.”

“It can’t be just two colors,” Steve said. “This palette guide says to have, like, _five_.”

“We can add silver,” Bucky suggested. “That’s three.”

Steve sighed. “I guess three will have to be enough. I’m sick of looking at this book.”

Bucky grinned. “Just wait. Soon we have to look at the actual _decorations.”_

Steve groaned.

 

 

The next week or so passed like that, Tony giving Steve and Bucky random things to decide on and the two debating it domestically.

And then, like all good things, Steve had to _fucking ruin it._

They were planning out particulars of who would do what at the ceremony, and Bucky declared, “Well, Tony’s my best man, obviously.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Okay. I dunno who mine would be.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Well, when I pictured marrying Peggy, _you_ were my best man,” Steve said.

Bucky sighed at the mention of Carter. “You have Sam, now,” he suggested.

Steve hummed. “Yeah, I guess he _is_ my best friend, these days. Okay, he’ll be mine, if he wants.” A beat, and Bucky steeled himself for what would come next, because Steve had a strange look on his face. “Speaking of Peggy,” he started, and Bucky tensed. “Did you know she’s still alive?”

“Really.” Bucky couldn’t help but have a dry tone, but Steve didn’t seem to notice, off in his own world.

His tiny, daydream-y, Carter-filled world.

Bucky was gonna be _sick._

“I should invite her,” Steve said, and Bucky bit back a protest. She _was_ an important part of Steve’s life – she _should_ be invited.

But no, Steve wasn’t finished. Not even fucking _close._

“If I can’t do this _with_ her, she should be there, anyway.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “She’s, what, ninety-something now?”   
“So are we, pal,” Steve said with a smile.

Bucky didn’t find it funny. “You still wanna marry her?”

Steve shrugged. “I still love her, Buck. It hasn’t been seventy years for me. It’s been, what, _three_ since I woke up?”

“Most people don’t stay in love with their exes that long,” Bucky said.

“Most people aren’t _genuinely in love_ with their ‘exes’,” Steve argued. “If she even is that. We didn’t break up, I _died.”_

“No, you didn’t,” Bucky said. “You-...”

“She _thought_ I did, that’s all that matters.” Steve sighed, and Bucky’s petty jealousy became a knife that stabbed him in the gut.

Particularly with the final blow Steve delivered, in the form of: “She was the only one for me, Buck.”

Bucky could hear blood in his ears. If Steve kept talking, he didn’t hear it. If he was looking at him funny, he didn’t see it past the stinging in his eyes.

_The only one for me._

Any hope Bucky had that this… _charade…_ could have sufficed for him, that it could have brought them closer, that it could have been _love…_

They were not just ‘dashed,’ they were _obliterated._

“I know how that feels,” Bucky muttered.

Steve was looking at him, he could _feel_ it more than _see_ it, and questioned what he meant, which he barely processed.

Bucky was reminded of the song he liked, _The Kids Aren’t Alright._

What was that line, again?

_When it rains, it pours._

Well, it was pouring now.

Bucky stood up, running a hand over his face, trying to physically wipe the urge to cry away. “You’re so fucking _lucky,_ Steve.”

Steve’s voice sounded almost offended, when he asked, “How am _I_ lucky?”

“Because she loved you,” Bucky said. “You loved her, and she loved you, and that was all you needed. You got to genuinely care about somebody.”

“I crashed a plane into the ocean after our first kiss,” Steve drawled. “I wouldn’t call that _luck.”_

“Yeah, well, I think I fucking win this pity party, okay?” Bucky spat. “Because I loved someone, and I sat in a Hydra base for _three fucking years_ before I realized they weren’t coming to rescue me. And that _broke_ me. I gave up, Steve. They didn’t break me. _I gave up._ Because I couldn’t take the idea that this person, who’d I placed all my trust in, who I loved more than _anything_ , took the news I was dead at face value and didn’t even _look_ for me.”

Steve looked so _confused,_ and it _hurt._ And then he looked pissed. “Bucky,” he said. “Were you in love with _Peggy_?”

Bucky couldn’t help but throw out a bitter laugh. “From my first meeting Carter, I knew, _if I see this girl again, it’s too soon.”_

Steve looked so _mad._ “Peggy is a great woman. Why would you hate her like that?”

“Because she wouldn’t fucking _look away.”_

Steve blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “The day in the bar. You hit on her, and she ignored you…so you hate her?”

Bucky let out a frustrated groan, which turned into a broken sob.

 _Great,_ he thought. He was crying too much lately. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._

“I give up,” he cried out. “Fucking…I _quit_. You’re never gonna get it.”

“I’m really not following,” Steve said. “Bucky, you’re starting to scare me, here.”  
Bucky buried his face in his hands. “ _Good.”_

“What?”

“That’s all I’m fucking good for anymore,” Bucky hissed. “I’m _terrifying._ I’m a death machine, Steve. And you know what?”

“You’re not, Buck, you’re just-…”

“No, Steve. _Do. You know. What?”_ He dropped his hands to glare at Steve. “I’m _glad._ I’m glad that I’m a fucking horrible murdering monster. Because I’m _good_ at it. It’s who I am, in the core. When they stripped away everything else, there were only a handful of things left behind. The chief among them was _rage.”_

“Buck-…”

“I’m not _fucking finished,”_ Bucky spat. “No, I’ve held this in too long. You keep trying to _fix_ me, Steve, even when I told you it’s not gonna happen. Because at my core, all that’s left is the _need_ to kill. I can’t exist without a mission. I thought, for a second, that loving someone could save me, but if anything, it’s pushed me farther down the rabbit hole.”

Steve looked hopelessly lost. “I really don’t get what you’re saying, Buck. Is this about…Tony? Clint? Natasha?”

Bucky choked back the next sob, pushing away the despair. Now was a time for _anger._

“You’re never _going_ to get it, Steve,” Bucky said. “Peggy was your end-all. Your first love, and your last one. You never had eyes for anyone else. So I’m gonna drop everything else, and I’m not gonna say another word. I’m just gonna ask – what the _hell_ are we doing?”

“Arguing?” Steve answered weakly.

Bucky pointed at the wedding books on the table. “We’re planning the single biggest _lie_ we’ve ever told.”

“It’s not a lie, it’s just- we don’t have to _love_ each other to do this, Buck.”

Bucky tugged at his hair. “No, you don’t have to love me to marry me,” he agreed. “But for once in my life, I wish _someone_ would.”

Steve looked tense. “Is that…is that what the sleeping around has been about?”

Bucky felt a cold, _murderous_ feeling turning in his belly.

“Sleeping around,” he repeated, dully. “Is _that_ what I’m doing?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Steve said.

Bucky stared for a second, and then gave a quiet, bitter laugh. Which quickly turned hysterical.

“Buck?”

Bucky headed over to the couch, scooping up his jacket and gloves from the coffee table and turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked.   
“To _sleep around,_ probably,” Bucky said.

 

 

 

Tony was goddamn _sick_ of people pounding on his door.

“What do you need now, Barnes?” he asked, throwing the door open. “Oh. Hey, Cap. …Question still stands.”

Steve looked _wrecked._ “Bucky’s mad,” he said.

Tony tipped his head. “Yeah, he gets that way. What’d you do?”

“I dunno,” Steve said. “Can Friday play it back? So you can see when he got mad, and explain it to me? Cause I don’t get it.”

Tony sighed, and waved Steve into his room. “Friday, play back Steve’s fuck-up. From the beginning.”

 

 

Tony stared blankly at the wall where the screen displayed a frozen image of Bucky in mid-shout.

“You,” Tony declared, addressing Steve, “Are an _idiot.”_

“What’d I _do?”_

Tony huffed. “He said it, outright. He wants someone to love him. You basically demeaned his entire purpose in life.”

“How’d I-…”

“ _She was the only one for me,”_ Tony quoted. “ _We don’t have to love each other. Sleeping around.”_ He glared. “The last one being particularly shitty, by the way.”

“Bucky knows we’re not like that,” Steve said. “Why’d he get so mad?”

“Because it hurt him to _hear_ it,” Tony said. “You don’t get it at all.”

“Explain it to me,” Steve begged. “I need _help,_ Tony.”

Tony ran a hand down his face. “I can’t say anything. This is something _he_ needs to explain. I promised I wouldn’t intervene.”

“When?” Steve asked.

“When he told me who he loved,” Tony said simply.

Steve let out a slow breath. “See, that’s what I don’t get. He never seemed close to _anybody._ He especially doesn’t now. Who the _hell_ has he been in love with?”

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe one of your boy squad,” he joked.  
“I mean, probably,” Steve said, entirely missing the sarcasm. “He did say he waited for them to rescue him, so it had to be someone from the war.”

Tony sighed loudly. “You’re exhausting. Go sleuth somewhere else.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, Tony. Even though I’m more confused now than ever.”

“Yeah, well. What’re friends for.”  


 

That night, at dinner, Bucky didn’t show.

“Visual on Barnes,” Natasha said.

“Sargent Barnes left the tower two hours ago,” Friday replied. “He has not returned.”

Everyone froze.

“Search party?” Clint quipped.  
Tony shook his head. “He’s allowed to leave. But…” He shifted in his seat, switching to _Iron Man_ mode. “Friday, monitor the news, all breaking headlines, keywords _Barnes_ and _Winter Soldier.”_

Everyone sat tensely, a few of them poking at their food, but mostly them all just sitting in silence.

It was about ten minutes before Friday announced, in an oddly quiet voice. “I took the liberty of monitoring police systems, as well.”

Everyone turned to look, as Friday pulled up a screen of formal arrest paperwork, labeled for the arrest of one _Sargent James B. Barnes._

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tony swore, getting up. “Everyone, wait here. I’m gonna go bail him out.”

“Yeah, like hell,” Natasha said. “I’m coming, too.”

“Seconded,” Clint said. “Thirded? Whatever, I’m with you.”

“Let me-…” Steve started to say, but Tony glared.

“ _You’ve_ done enough. Let us help, Cap. You’ll just make it worse.”

Steve slumped in his seat, and the trio that made up _Team: Bail Out Bucky_ headed out.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony used his StarkPad to play them the argument footage on the way over.

“Shit,” Clint swore, when they reached the end of the fight. “ _Shit,_ Cap fucked up this time.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Natasha said. “I cannot _believe_ he’d…”

“He didn’t know,” Tony said. “Doesn’t excuse much, but still. He didn’t _know.”_

“What was he charged with?” Clint said, flicking through the screens, back to Bucky’s arrest paperwork. “Aw, hell.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t charged with anything,” Clint said. “This is paperwork for _protective custody.”_

There was silence.

Then, Natasha asked, “What does that mean? What _happened?”_

The StarkPad pinged, and Friday announced, “Sargent Barnes’ file has been updated.”

“Pull it up, Fri,” Tony told the AI.

The screen opened. “Transfer paperwork,” Clint said, sounding _horrified._ “They’re preparing to move him to a hospital first thing tomorrow.”

“He’s injured?”

“Not that kind of hospital.”

There was more silence, and then, without a word, Tony started _speeding._

 

 

The three entered the police station, turning every head in the lobby.

“M-Mister Stark, Avengers, sir,” the man at the front desk stuttered. “Are you here for your friend?”  
“Damn right,” Clint said. “What _happened?”_

“He was…” the man started, before shaking his head. “Just. Come look.”

And he lead them back to the cells. In one of them, Bucky was pacing, talking to himself, eyes glassy and distant.

“He was like that when we found him,” the officer told them. “Talking in what sounds like Russian.”

Natasha stepped closer, listening to him. “It’s nonsense,” she said. “Random words.”

Tony tensed up. “Let me guess. _Longing? Daybreak?_ That kind of thing?”

She stared at him. “…Those words exactly. Why? What’s he doing?”

“Shit, shitting shit,” Tony swore. “It’s his conditioning phrase, from Hydra. He’s trying to _reset himself.”_

Clint was at the bars in a split second. “Hey, Bucky. Buck, man, look at me.”

No response. Bucky just kept muttering in Russian.

“Bucky, you can’t _reset yourself,”_ Clint said. “Well, you may be _able_ to, but please _don’t._ We’ve come so far in the past few weeks.”

Natasha pulled him back. “It’s not gonna work. We’re gonna have to be harsh, here.” And then she barked something at him in Russian.

Bucky straightened instantly, replying in the same tongue.

 _“Ready to comply,”_ Clint translated. “She’s taking him the long way around.”

Tony turned to the horrified looking police officer. “Can we have a minute?” he asked. “This isn’t really something we want people to see, if you get me.”

The officer nodded. “O-of course, sir, I’ll give you privacy.”

“Oh, and, kid?”

The officer looked up at him with wide eyes, and Tony pointed to the security camera. “If that footage finds its way to the press? There will be _consequences_.”

The officer gave a shaky nod, and fled the room.

 

 

It took Natasha about an hour of stern Russian before she got Bucky to start to slip back out of it.

He started babbling in Russian, instead of speaking in smooth, efficient sentences, and there were tears in his eyes. Then he was… _pleading,_ it sounded like.

“What’s he…?”

“He’s asking not to be punished,” Clint said. “Saying he’ll forget about ‘the man on the bridge’ if he can just avoid whatever they were gonna do to him. _Christ_ , I hate Hydra.”

Natasha replied calmly, and Clint translated, “She said he won’t be punished, if he tells her what happened.”

Bucky started talking, and Clint rapidly translated, “He’s saying that he nearly failed his mission, because he knew the man. I’m guessing that was when he ran into Steve.” He swallowed. “He says he couldn’t kill the man, even if he _wanted_ to, because he couldn’t make himself fight at full strength.”

“If he’s been fighting half-strength, I hate to see what _all-out_ looks like,” Tony muttered.   
“He’s reporting about the helicarrier now,” Clint said. “He’s snapping out of it, catching up to the present. He just keeps repeating, ‘ _til the end of the line_.’” A pause, and Bucky began to cry, sinking to his knees. “…He asked why Steve would _lie._ Christ.”

Tony ran a hand down his face. “You with us, now, buddy?”

Bucky sobbed in response. “Tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”  
“You didn’t,” Natasha told him. “Don’t worry, Barnes, you were perfectly safe to be around. You just spaced, it’s okay.”

“No it’s _not_!” Bucky yelled. “Leave me here.”

“What?” Tony said. “No, we’re definitely not doing that.”

“Then kill me, or something,” Bucky muttered. “I’m a _mess,_ not a person. I can’t even…shit, I can’t even hold it together for a _day_.”

“I’m gonna go get someone to open the door,” Natasha muttered, and Clint and Tony both pretended they didn’t see her wiping her eyes as she walked away.

The young cop from before came back, unlocking the door.

Tony and Clint stepped in and took Bucky’s shoulders, hefting him up. “C’mon, bud,” Tony said. “You’ll feel better when you get some sleep.”

Bucky just leaned into their shoulders. “I doubt it,” he muttered.

 

 

On the way back, Tony called the Avengers on a group line. “Guys,” he said. “We’ve got Bucky, but give us space. He didn’t hurt anyone, and no one hurt him. Stop worrying, and let us get him calmed down.”

“Is he okay?” Wanda asked.

“Far from it,” Tony answered, watching Bucky stare blankly out the window. “But it’s only up from here.”

 

 

They had the lobby cleared before they arrived, so they didn’t have to worry about reporters, and headed up.

“That’s not his floor,” Natasha pointed out, when Tony hit an elevator button.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Tony said. “I’m not putting him anywhere _near_ Steve, given he’s the one who triggered this.”

Tony took Bucky to his own room, helping him into bed. “Looks like we’re platonically cuddling, again, Barnes.”

“How tragic,” Clint drawled. “A fate worse than death, truly.”

Tony winked.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just curled up on the bed, staring out at the wall.

Natasha sighed. “I’ll leave him to you, Stark. Call me if he spaces out again.”

“I really need to learn Russian,” Tony said, and then, “I’ll have Friday ping you automatically. Got that, Fri?”

“Noted, sir.”

Clint and Natasha cleared out, and Tony laid down next to Bucky.

“You know,” he said, slowly. “You want someone to love you? Look around. We _all_ do, Bucky.”

He felt Bucky start shaking beside him.   
“Yeah, I know,” Tony said, quietly. “We’re not _him_.”

 

 

Tony woke up to an empty bed.

“Friday,” Tony practically yelled. “Location on Barnes.”

“He’s on the roof.”

Tony’s blood went cold. “Please tell me he’s just admiring the view.”

“He’s roughly 300 feet from the closest edge.”

Tony let out a relieved sigh. “Ping Natasha, have her on standby. I’m going up.”

 

 

Bucky stared up at the clouds, trying to picture a giant hole filled with aliens.

As peaceful as the sky was, he couldn’t really see it.

“What’d it look like?” He asked, when he heard Tony’s familiar footsteps come up behind him. “The portal.”

“Like a tear,” Tony said. “Filled with space.”

Bucky hummed. Then, he said, “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “You had a rough night. It happens.”

A pause. “I gave myself away, didn’t I? Steve knows.”  
“Believe it or not, no, he doesn’t,” Tony said. “He’s still just as oblivious as ever. I think he thinks you were in love with one of the Howling Commandos.”

Bucky snorted. “Ah, yes. My one true love, Dum-Dum.”

“You called a guy _Dum-Dum_ and Cap frowns at me for naming a robot Dum-E?”

“He’s a hypocrite,” Bucky said. “Always has been. He used to talk about how words are better than fighting, and then pick fights with guys twice his size.”

“If you ask him, he’d say they had it coming, and he was just protecting the innocent or something.”

Bucky sighed. “He usually was. He didn’t care who a person was, if you were _mean_ to someone in front of him, you could expect him to say something. Or kick your ass.”

There was quiet, for a moment.

“I have to get over myself,” Bucky murmured.   
“You have to get over _him,”_ Tony said. “That’s different.”

“No,” Bucky said. “It’s really not.”

 

 

Bucky and Tony went down to the living floor, and wandered into the kitchen, where the rest of the team had gathered for their daily breakfast.

Everyone turned to look at Bucky when he entered, and he shifted awkwardly. “Sorry, about yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry about me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, and stopped pouring cereal to fish out a piece and throw it at him. “Shut up. We’re gonna worry about you, anyway. You just made us stress a little harder.”

Clint approached him, throwing an arm over his shoulders and kissing his cheek with a wet _smack._ “Sorry, dollface, you’re stuck with us.”

Bucky wiped his cheek, shrugging Clint off. “Gross. Here I was hoping you’d give up on me.”

“Never,” Wanda promised.

“You hungry, Barnes?” Natasha asked. “Your shake stuff’s out on the counter.”

And just like that, they were back to normal.

 

 

 _Almost_.

 

 

Steve found Bucky later that day, in the gym, while he was doing pushups.

“Can we talk?” Steve said.

“Probably should,” Bucky replied, pausing his exercise and standing up. “Shoot.”

“I’m sorry I upset you so much,” Steve said. “But I’m still not sure what I did, or who you love, or what exactly set you off. Could you…could you please _explain?”_

Bucky sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m trying to get over it.”

“Can I help?” Steve asked. “Let me help.”

“Nah, I need to do this alone,” Bucky said. “I’m just…I’ve spent _seventy years_ dealing with only muted emotions. Yesterday sort of…shook me.”

“Understatement,” Steve replied. “How’d you end up in jail?”

“Spaced out, police thought I was dangerous,” Bucky summarized. “Took me into protective custody.”

“Christ, Buck,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to-…”

“You didn’t,” Bucky said. “I got too worked up. I should have kept my cool.”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Steve, I promise, this one’s on me,” Bucky said. “Let’s just…let’s drop it, and move on, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Okay. Okay, we can do that.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “Now, we were wedding planning…?”

Steve grinned.

 

 

June rolled around, and Steve and Bucky worked up an invitation design, and sent it out to _everyone._

The date was set for August 10. A little fast, but they both agreed it was better that way.

They then only had a few minor plans left to work out, but those would come closer to the actual date. Cakes, for instance.

The idea of a wedding got everyone buzzing, ready for the main event, but they had something else to focus on in the meantime.

Tony came up with a cover story that he pitched to Parker’s aunt, saying that he’d ended up idly chatting with Peter at the party and was impressed by his brain, and chose to hire him on as an intern.

A _paid_ intern, he assured the Parkers, which got them both excited.

And so, after school on weekdays, Tony would send a car to scoop Peter up from school and bring him to the tower.

The first day of this came, and Peter was brought up to the living floor, and introduced to everybody.

 

 

Peter’s heart was racing.   
He was standing in a kitchen that was the size of his whole apartment, surrounded by Avengers, with Tony Stark’s hand on his shoulder.

“Everyone, meet Peter Parker,” Stark introduced. “Play nice, kids.”

“And I know who you guys are,” Peter said quickly. “I-I mean, not _personally,_ obviously, but, like…I know your names.”

Black Widow was staring at him. “Kid,” she said. “We’re gonna eat you alive.”

Peter swallowed.

“No cannibalism,” Stark scolded. “Not even metaphorically.”

Black Widow just gave a cold smile.

The Winter Soldier started laughing. “Don’t make the kid shit himself, Nat,” he said.

“Bucky, be _nice_ ,” Captain America said.

“Oooh, that’s the _you’re sleeping on the couch_ voice,” Hawkeye joked.

“I sleep on the _floor,_ thank you very much, _”_ the Winter Soldier said.

“Because you’re fucking weird, Barnes,” Black Widow said, and then mocked the Soldier’s voice. _“Oh, beds are too_ soft, _I need solid ground to rest. I can’t eat real food. I jump out of windows.”_

“Only when necessary,” the Soldier replied. “And I’m working on the food thing.”

“You can’t eat?” Peter couldn’t help but ask, but immediately regretted it when the Soldier looked at him.

 _Christ,_ that guy was terrifying.

“Nah,” the Soldier finally said. “Hydra conditioning. I can’t stomach solid food, unless it’s _very_ small, but I need to eat a lot to stay healthy.” He held up his cup, filled with some weird green stuff. “Protein shakes are the best option.”

“He did eat a pancake this morning,” Captain America said, sounding proud. The Winter Soldier shrugged in response.

“Yes, praise your fiancé achieving his food goals,” Stark said. “Because that’s not sappy and disgusting at all.”

Hawkeye coughed, “ _Jealous_ ,” into his hand, and most of the table laughed.

Peter was in the Twilight Zone, he decided. That was the only explanation.

He watched the Winter Soldier lean over to Captain America, asking, “You call Sam yet?”

The Captain shook his head. “No, but I will.”

“Share with the class?” Tony prompted.

“Sam’s gonna be my best man,” Captain America said. “Well, I’m gonna _ask,_ anyway. He doesn’t really… _like_ Bucky.”  
“Why not?” Black Widow asked. “He’s fun.”

“He thought I was homophobic when we first met,” the Soldier said.

There was a pause, and then the whole table burst out laughing.

“But you’re so _gay,”_ Hawkeye said.

“Bisexual,” Stark corrected.

Hawkeye waved a hand in the air, which was when Peter caught sight of a glint of metal, typically hidden under Hawkeye’s little fingerless gloves.

“Is that a wedding ring?”

Everyone froze. Then, the Winter Soldier drawled out a quiet, “ _Busted.”_

“You saw nothing,” Hawkeye told Peter, who nodded seriously. “My marriage is, like, _way_ beyond ‘top secret.’ It’s not even clearance ranked. It’s _unrecorded.”_

“Okay,” Peter said. “Okay, I can keep a secret, I promise.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen your secret-keeping, _Spiderman,”_ the Winter Soldier said. “Forgive me if we’re not confident.”

Peter flushed. “I can! I swear. I’ll forget I even saw it.”

“I can traumatize you into forgetting,” Black Widow said.

Peter paled. “Please don’t.”  
“Emotionally, I mean,” she said. “Did you know me and Barnes-…”  
“ _Nope,_ we’re not telling that story,” the Winter Soldier interrupted.

There was silence around the table, and Peter decided to let that one go.

A hand fell back to his shoulder, and he looked up at Mister Stark. “Come on, kid, let’s go check out the lab.”

 

 

The next week passed with little incident, just a daily routine of silly happenings on constant repeat.

And then, on the next Wednesday, shit hit the fan, where Parker was concerned.

 

It was a pretty normal afternoon, except something was _crawling_ under Bucky’s skin. He was antsy, ready to fight, ready to run, ready to do _something._

He found himself in the gym, absolutely destroying a punching bag, careful to hold back with his left arm to avoid breaking the bag. He didn’t want the sand pouring out into his metal knuckles.

A whistle came from behind him, and he turned to see Clint leaning in the doorway, watching him. “Your ass bounces when you punch,” he informed Bucky.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Please tell me you have something for me to _do.”_

Clint shrugged. “I was just coming to exercise, but, y’know,” he winked. “We could _team up,_ for that.”

Bucky caught the double entendre, and weighed his options.

He hadn’t slept with Clint more than the once, mainly because he’d found out the man was married, but if the marriage was _open_ and _mainly platonic_ and everything else Clint had said…

Bucky sighed, and tipped his head. “Alright. Come and get it, Barton.”

 

 

“Hey, kid.”  
“Yes, Mister Stark?” Peter said, looking up from the papers Stark had given him to look through. They were searching through printouts of Hydra schematics, sorting them into stacks of ‘weapons,’ ‘armor,’ and ‘other.’

Or, well, _Peter_ was. Tony was building some weird thing over in the corner that he wouldn’t let Peter see.

“Do me a favor, and go get Barnes? Tell him I’ve got the prototypes. He’ll know what I mean.”

Peter nodded, yelling a quick, _“Yes, sir,”_ and headed out of the lab. “Friday, where’s the Winter Soldier?” he asked, when in the elevator.

“Sargent Barnes is in the gym on the rec floor,” Friday replied. “Taking you there now.” And then, a pause, and, “Proceed with caution.”

Peter guessed that meant the Soldier was in a bad mood, so he steeled himself to relay the message and book it.

When he opened the door, though, he realized he was _very_ wrong.

Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier were on the floor near the boxing ring, _having sex._

“Holy _shiiiii-…”_ he cut the curse off at the last second, throwing a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Barnes’ head snapped up, and he directed a glare at Peter that could have dropped him dead.

Peter slammed the door closed.

Holy _shit._

 

 

Bucky took half a second to weigh his options.

On one hand, he had a dick in his ass, which was _always_ nice.

On the other, he’d just been caught having sex with someone who was most certainly _not_ his fiancé by someone who didn’t understand the “platonic marriage” deal.

He should really go explain, before the kid did something stupid.

He rolled his hips instead.

Clint laughed under him. “You seriously not going after him?”

“I’ll catch up,” Bucky dismissed.

“You really _are_ in a mood,” Clint muttered, but then he was shoving Bucky off.

Bucky whined. “We’re not _done,”_ he protested.

“Yes,” Clint said. “We are. We can resume when you tell Parker that we’re not actually cheating on our respective significant others.” He gave Bucky a stern look. “And I’d do it _before_ he tells Cap.”

Bucky felt cold, suddenly. Steve always got so _mad_ about Bucky’s casual affairs with his fellow assassins.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s probably – that’s a good idea.”

He pulled on his clothes, and headed out after Peter.

 

 

Peter ran to the bathroom the second he caught his breath, standing at the sink and splashing water on his face.

Holy _shit._

Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier were having an _affair._

One was married, apparently, and the other was engaged (to _Captain America_ of all people), and there they were, having sex in the gym.

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it?

It was _Captain America_ being cheated on.

Peter steeled himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

It didn’t matter that the Soldier scared the shit out of him.

He had to do _something._

_Knock, knock._

Peter jumped at the noise, and called, “Hello?”

“Open the door, Parker,” the Winter Soldier’s voice came through the wood. “We need to talk.”

Peter froze. Weighed his options.

“I’ll just pick the lock,” the Soldier said. “And then I’ll be in an even worse mood than I am now.”

Peter opened the door.

“Okay,” the Soldier said. “What you saw-…”

“If you’re gonna tell me it’s not what it looks like, I’m not buying it.”

The Soldier raised an eyebrow coolly.

“I-I mean. Sir. I know what I saw, sir. A-and, you’re _engaged,_ and he’s _married,_ and that’s- that’s _adultery.”_

The Soldier folded his arms, staring Peter down.

“Sir. With respect…you’ve lost my respect,” Peter finished.

The Soldier was silent for a long pause, and Peter tried to control his shaking. _This is it,_ he thought. _I’m gonna be murdered by a super-assassin._

But then the Soldier _laughed._

“Um,” Peter muttered.   
“You’ve got more guts than I gave you credit for,” the Soldier said. “I know what you think I’m doing, and I promise, if I was, I’d deserve a lot worse than you’re saying. But I’m not.”

Peter frowned. “Sir, I _saw-…”_

“You _saw_ me letting off steam,” the Soldier said slowly. “Because I’ve had a really shitty day. Trust me, Steve knows I do this. So does Clint’s wife. Neither of them _care.”_

Peter considered that, but then his brain turned it over, and something clicked. “Yes, they do,” Peter said, realization dawning. “Or at least, Captain Amer- Captain _Rogers_ , does, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me. You’d just let me embarrass myself telling him.”

The Soldier looked serious, then. “Okay. You’re a smart kid, I see why Tony likes you.”

“Flattery’s not gonna get me to _not_ tell Captain Rogers, sir,” Peter admitted.

The Soldier sighed. “Alright, you want the truth? Steve hates when I sleep around. _Hates_ it.”

“Then why _do_ you?” Peter couldn’t help but ask.

“Because, this is about all I’m good for,” the Soldier answered, quietly. “I’m good at fighting, I’m good as someone’s side thing. Those are my two talents. Everything else I suck at.”

Peter frowned. “You’re engaged, though.”

The Soldier gave a very bitter sounding laugh. “Yeah, well, tell _Steve_ that,” he spat.   
“I-…I don’t follow, sir,” Peter said.

“He doesn’t love me,” the Soldier told him. “We’re not- It’s not-… Steve sees me as a _project._ Something he can fix, someone he can heal. Not a lover, not a boyfriend, not a _husband._ If he could go back in time, and marry Peggy Carter, he would. He’s told me as much.”

Peter processed that, but before he could reply, the Soldier was talking again.

“Shit, why am I telling you all this?” he said. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. You wanna tell Steve? Go right ahead. I won’t stop you. But I’m telling you, it’s not gonna make a difference. He’ll get pissed, not because he’s _jealous_ or whatever you’re thinking, but because he thinks I’m self-destructing.”

“With respect, sir,” Peter said, carefully. “It kind of seems like you _are.”_

 

 

Bucky stared at Parker.

And then, enraged, he slammed his hand against the doorway, reveling in Peter’s flinch. “What the _fuck_ do _you_ know about _me_?” he demanded. “I have every goddamned right to do something for myself. I’m not self-destructing, I’m _living._ For the first time in seventy fucking years. Let me _live,_ dammit, Steve!”

Peter was staring at him with wide, horrified eyes, and Bucky realized he was yelling at the wrong person.

Worse, he was yelling _at all._

Bucky stepped aside, and didn’t stop the teen when he ran.

 _I’m such a fuckup,_ Bucky thought to himself.

_So much for talking him down._

 

 

Steve was reading when he heard the boy come in.

“Peter,” he greeted, setting his book aside. “What’s going on?”

Peter’s breathing was heavy and labored, and he had his hands on his knees, panting.

“Whoa, you okay, son?” Steve said, holding out a hand to stabilize the teen. “Just breathe, tell me when you’re ready.”

“The Winter Soldier,” he said. “He’s…I think he’s having problems.”

Steve straightened. “What is it? Was he focused? Speaking English?”

“What?” Peter asked, sounding confused. “Uh, yeah, he was totally with it. He’s just…I’m sorry, Captain.”

Steve felt cold. “What happened, Peter?”

“He was in the gym, with Hawkeye, and they were…”

Steve put the pieces together on his own.

His expression was _stone_. “They were having sex, right?”

Peter nodded slowly. “I’m _really_ sorry, sir.”

Steve shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for telling me.” He paused, thinking, before asking, “That’s not all, is it? You said he was having problems.”

“He got really angry, when I talked to him about it,” Peter said. “He- he said he was _living,_ for the first time in seventy years. And…he thought I was you, for a second.”

“What?” Steve asked. He’d never heard of Bucky getting people confused before.

“Well, I don’t know if he really got us mixed up,” Peter backpedaled. “But he was yelling, and then he called me _Steve.”_

Steve sighed. “It sounds like Buck and I need to have a talk,” he said carefully. “A long overdue talk.” He eyed Peter for a second. “What are you doing out of the lab, anyway?”

Peter gasped. “I was supposed to tell the Soldier that the prototypes are done!”

Steve laughed, someone bitterly. “Prototypes. Do you know what that means?”

Peter shook his head. “Mister Stark didn’t tell me. He said the- uh, Sargent Barnes- would know.”

“Vibranium rings,” Steve said. “Tony’s making vibranium rings.”

“For what?” Peter asked.

Steve smiled. “For my wedding.”


	14. Chapter 14

Peter felt like _shit._

 

 

Bucky felt like much, much worse than _shit._

 

 

“Knock, knock,” Natasha called.

Bucky groaned at her from where he lay in bed, arm over his eyes.

“Aw, knock it off,” she said. “Clint told me the boy wonder caught you together. You set him straight?”

“Tried,” Bucky said. “Ended up just yelling at him.”

“Yikes,” Natasha said. “I’m sure he thinks you’re _great.”_

She flopped down into the bed next to him. “Your bed _is_ super soft,” she acknowledged. “Wanna trade?”

“Please,” Bucky replied. “I’d like to actually sleep on it.”

“Sargent Barnes,” Friday pinged him. “Captain Rogers is looking for you.”

“Tell him I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” Bucky said.

Natasha shoved his shoulder. “Play nice with your fiancé.”

“Shut up about the fucking fake-ass wedding,” Bucky spat.

“Whoa, okay, _somebody’s_ pissy,” Natasha said. “What crawled up your ass today?”

“I don’t _know,”_ Bucky said. “I’ve been antsy all day. I need _something,_ but I don’t know _what.”_

“Well, right now, you need to go talk to Steve,” Natasha said. “And then we’ll see if we can get you a hobby or something, so you don’t yell at teenage boys.”

Bucky winced. “Okay, point taken.”

Natasha shoved him out of bed. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

 

 

Bucky walked back into the gym, where Steve was waiting.

“Any particular reason you wanted to do this at the scene of the crime?” Bucky said, but it was a bit too resigned to be a proper joke. He didn’t even let Steve reply to it, just held his arms out at his sides. “Let me have it, then. Yell, take a swing, whatever you want. I’ve got it coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

Bucky paused. “Alright, that’s not what I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time adjusting,” Steve said. “I’m sorry you think you’re only good in a fight. I’m sorry I don’t show that I care about you enough.”

Bucky looked down at the floor. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who-…”

“No,” Steve said. “I keep getting mad at you, when you’re _recovering._ What you told Peter is right. You have every right to do what you want. You have every right to enjoy your life.”

“Not if it hurts you,” Bucky said. “That’s the _last_ thing I wanna do.”

“I’ll be okay,” Steve said. “Just make sure that, whatever you do, you’re looking out for yourself. I don’t like you doing this stuff, no, but it’s because I don’t know what you’re doing for fun and what you’re doing because you don’t think you’re worth more.”

Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose. “I used to be the one looking out for you,” he said. “Now it’s the other way around, and I don’t know what to do, Steve.” He looked down at his hands. “Though, let’s be real, you’ve never needed me as much as I need you.”

“Not true, Buck,” Steve said, taking Bucky’s hands in his own. “I’ve always depended on you. You were there even when I had nothing else.”

“But now you have _everything,”_ Bucky said. “You don’t need me.”

“Wrong again,” Steve said. “If anything, I need you _more.”_

Bucky looked up at Steve, confused. “How does that make sense?”

“Someone’s gotta keep me grounded,” Steve said. “Who better than my best friend?”

_Best friend._

That was never gonna hurt less.

“We’re a mess,” Bucky sighed. “And I need to apologize to Parker.”

Steve was smiling.

“What?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded to the wall behind Bucky.

“No, you didn’t,” Bucky muttered, turning around.

Sure enough, Parker was there, hanging upside-down from the ceiling.

He dropped down when Bucky laid eyes on him, rushing over. “Sargent Barnes, Winter Soldier, sir, I’m so sorry to have upset you, but I just-…”

“No, it’s alright,” Bucky said. “You were looking out for Steve. I owe you one, Parker.”

Parker stared at him with wide eyes. Then, suddenly, he looked determined.

“Can I cash that in for a _big_ favor?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said. “Whatever you want, kid.”

“Stop cheating on the Captain.”

Bucky choked. “Um. I thought I explained-…”

“I really don’t mind, Peter,” Steve said, flushing pink. “He can do what he wants.”  
“No, you _do_ mind, I saw how you looked when I told you-…”

Bucky looked at Steve, confused. “How’d you look?”

Steve looked _very_ uncomfortable. “Probably sick of hearing about it, honestly. You can do what you want, I just…”

“What?”   
Steve sighed. “Can we finish this on our floor?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, bracing himself. _This is it,_ he thought, _the lecture I was expecting._

 

 

Parker had to go home, so they didn’t have to worry about sending him back to Tony or anything. They rode the elevator to their floor in silence.

Stepping off the lift, Steve called, “Friday, give us privacy, please.”

“Okay, I’m guessing _this_ is where I’m in for-…”  
And there were lips on his.

Bucky’s brain short-circuited.

Steve pulled away, hands on Bucky’s chin. “If you need someone,” he said. “Let it be _me.”_

Bucky processed that, then frowned, and shoved Steve away. “I’m nobody’s pity-fuck,” he spat.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Steve said. “I just- you deserve someone who _cares.”_

“Clint and Natasha are my friends, they _do_ care,” Bucky said.

“Not like I do,” Steve said. “Please, Buck, just…let this be _our_ thing.”

Bucky stared at him. The itch returned, that steady crawling under his skin, and he couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or _really_ turned on.

He decided to go with _both._

“Fine,” he said, throwing off his jacket. “You wanna fuck? Let’s go.”

And he launched at Steve.

 

 

Steve let himself be backed into the wall, Bucky’s lips on his, but the second his back made contact, it was like a switch was flipped that said, _this is happening, you’re fucking James Buchanan Barnes._

He flipped them quickly, pushing Bucky against the wall instead, sliding his hands over his chest and down to the waistline of his jeans, where he tucked his fingertips into the front.

Bucky responded by reaching between them and undoing his belt, tossing that in the same general direction he’d thrown his jacket.

They broke the kiss and both pulled their shirts off, but when Steve tried to reconnect for another kiss, Bucky dodged and connected to a nipple instead, tonguing it heavily. Steve groaned, tipping his head back at the sensation.

And then there was a hand tugging at the button on his jeans. Steve took the hint, undoing them and kicking them off, toeing out of his shoes while he was at it, leaving him in boxers and socks.

“You’re overdressed,” Steve panted, and Bucky gave a weird little growl in response. He pulled back from Steve’s chest, and he thought Bucky was going to undress, but instead, he dropped to his knees, pulling Steve’s boxers down.

Steve had barely stepped out of them when Bucky took him into his mouth, making Steve cry out.

Steve had only been partially hard, so Bucky only worked him until he was fully there, and then pulled off with a slight _pop._ Steve shifted his hips, chasing after him, but Bucky grabbed his sides to hold him still. “Patience,” he chastised, standing up and kicking off the rest of his own clothes.

Steve took the opportunity to get rid of his socks, and then they were both standing naked in the hall. “Bed?” Steve suggested.

“Oh, hell yes,” Bucky replied, and took Steve’s hand, pulling him into his room, and then spun them around to push Steve onto the bed.

Bucky was straddling Steve in seconds, while he dug into his nightstand, before pulling out lube. “Hand,” he demanded, and Steve held one out obligingly. Bucky went to squirt some into his hand, before pausing. “Are you…are you still a virgin?”

Steve blushed heavily. “Uh. Yeah.”

Bucky blinked, before leaning down, giving Steve the first actual _tender_ kiss of the night. “I’ll make it good,” he promised.

And then he switched the bottle to his left hand, to squirt the lube into his own right palm, lubing up his own fingers. He reached behind himself, sliding one finger into his own ass.

Steve watched in awe as Bucky fingered himself, especially when the ex-Hydra assassin combined it with stroking himself with his metal hand.

“Don’t finish without me,” Steve teased weakly.   
“I last… _ah…_ a long time,” Bucky assured him. “It took Nat _and_ Clint to get me off, even after thirty years of nothing.”

Steve sat up, tucking his face into Bucky’s shoulder and starting to kiss along his neck. “Let me help,” he offered, brushing Bucky’s left hand away from his dick and taking over the stroking.

Bucky groaned in response, adding a second finger to himself. “Fucking _yes,_ Steve, this is everything a guy could want.”

Steve tried to mimic things _he_ liked, but the different angle made it a little awkward. He did, however, seem to do _some_ things that Bucky really liked, because soon, Bucky spat out, “Fuck prep,” and pulled his fingers out of himself.

“You sure?” Steve asked, as Bucky pushed him back down to the bed. “I don’t wanna hurt- _oooh.”_

Bucky had already slid down onto Steve, and had his head tipped back, eyes closed in bliss. “Not just for your ego,” he moaned out. “But you are much, _much_ bigger than Clint.”

“I’ll remember to tell him,” Steve panted, as Bucky started to rock his hips.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ ,” Bucky replied. “Ah! Shit, right-…”

Steve caught the hint, and rolled his hips up to meet Bucky, making him cry out again. “ _Yes,_ Steve, keep doing – _ah ­­–_ that.”

Steve took a hold of Bucky’s hips and helped set the pace for Bucky riding him, grinding them together, first brutally slow, then faster and faster until they were both hardly breathing.  
“Gonna come,” Bucky panted, finally. “Shit, Steve…” he let out a string of curses.

Steve was right behind him, if not ahead, but he wanted to finish strong. So, he looped an around behind Bucky’s back, and flipped them over, so that _Bucky_ was on his back on the mattress and _Steve_ was on top, free to drive deeper into Bucky.

It only took a few thrusts in that position before Bucky was clenching down around Steve, and cumming onto his own chest. Steve came right after, into Bucky, before burying his face into Bucky’s shoulder and trying to catch his breath.   
“That,” Bucky panted, “Was _phenomenal.”_

Steve nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

There was a pause, while they both steadied their breathing.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky suddenly swore.

“What?”

“You almost waited until marriage,” Bucky informed him.

They stared at each other for a minute, then started laughing.

 

 

“Sirs,” Friday announced, about an hour into their lie-in. “Mister Stark is gathering the Avengers in the living floor kitchen for a dinner he describes as ‘crucial.’ You have one hour before it begins.”

Bucky groaned, burying his face into Steve’s shoulder. While there, he allowed himself a private smile.

He was right where he wanted to be.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve said. “We should probably shower. You’re all…sticky.”

Bucky giggled deliriously against Steve’s collarbone.

“And you should probably get some food,” Steve continued. “And then we’ll come back here and rest up.”

Bucky pulled back, grinning at Steve. “Wanna shower _with_ me?” he asked.

Steve gave a happy little smile back. “Don’t mind if I do.”

 

 

It took them almost forty minutes to shower, considering the second they were under the spray, Bucky sunk to his knees, taking Steve back into his mouth.

“We _just_ had sex,” Steve whined, but Bucky just hummed around him, continuing to massage him with his tongue until he was hard again, and, a bit later, cumming down Bucky’s throat.

Which Bucky _swallowed,_ because he never ceased to be impressive.

“Your turn?” Steve offered, when Bucky got to his feet, but he shook his head.

“Nah,” he said, kissing Steve’s cheek. “You can pay me back next time. We need to actually get clean.”

“Mm-hm,” Steve hummed, before pointing to Bucky’s crotch. “Part of you disagrees.”

“Okay, fine,” Bucky sighed, before giving a wicked grin. “You’ve never had sex…does that mean you’ve never eaten someone out?”

And so soon Bucky was jerking himself off against the shower wall while Steve licked at his ass, which was kind of weird, but not unpleasant.

Especially not with the noises Bucky was making, which were almost enough to get Steve hard a _third_ time.

“Nice to know the serum kills refractory periods,” Bucky panted when he’d finished. “I feel like we’re gonna be at this a while. In fact, let’s skip dinner.”

Steve laughed, pulling Bucky forward to stand under the water with him. “Tony said _crucial.”_

“It’s _Tony,”_ Bucky protested. “That probably means he found out I haven’t watched _Star Wars_ yet.”

“Still?” Steve asked. When Bucky shrugged, he said, “It’s good. I liked it.”

“But there’s _six,”_ Bucky sighed. “That’s so _many.”_

Steve laughed. “Let me wash your hair, you big goof.”

 

 

They got dressed (in _fresh_ clothes, not their discarded ones, which they were too lazy to track down) and headed upstairs with about five minutes to spare.

There was some jazz-style song playing when they stepped off the elevator, and Tony was in the middle of the room, dancing to it.

 _You’re just my type,_ the music sang. _You’ve got a pulse and you are breathing._

Bucky snorted. “Perfect song choice for you, Tony.”

“Hey!” Tony called. “I have _high standards.”_ He grinned. “The important thing, though, is where have _you two_ been for the past hour and a half?”

Both super-soldiers flushed, and Tony let out a cry of joy. “Finally!”

“Finally _what,_ asshole?” Bucky muttered. “I’ll show you _finally.”_

“I’m being threatened!” Tony declared. “Natasha, help!”

“You’re on your own,” she drawled from her seat. “Until you tell us why the hell we’re up here.”

“Beats me,” Tony said. “Thor said to round you all up, so I’m waiting on him.”

“Wait no longer,” the god said, striding into the room. “I am here. And so is _Loki.”_

The room erupted into chaos.

 

 

 

“We can’t catch a break, can we?” Steve murmured to Bucky, watching the Avengers all yell at each other.

Bucky shrugged. “We stopped a murderous deathbot trying to use a man-made meteor to destroy the planet,” Bucky said. “Somehow I think a teenager with severe daddy issues will be _fine_.”

“We are a little more prepared then we were in the Battle of New York,” Steve conceded. “And there’s more of us.”

“Hey, lovebirds, wanna share with the class?” Tony called.

“We’re not worried,” Bucky said. “He doesn’t have the scepter, right? So he’s already behind.”

“If you would _listen to me,”_ Thor said. “He is not here to fight.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked. “Isn’t fighting basically his constant state of being?”  
“He’s looking for something,” Thor said. “Or, some _one,_ now.”

Bucky got it first. “Vision,” he breathed. “He wants the Mind Stone.”

“He will not get it,” Vision said. “It is fused to my body. Even if he were to kill me, there is no guarantee the stone would be salvageable.”

“He’s gonna figure that out eventually,” Tony said. “And I don’t wanna see the tantrum he throws when he does.”

 _Just when everything was looking up,_ Bucky thought, letting out a sigh. “Well,” he announced. “Let’s start searching.”

 

 

Tony set up a scanner system to monitor…pretty much _everywhere…_ for Loki.

He linked it to the HulkBuster satellite, telling them, “It’s gonna scan for Asgardian vitals. We’ll know the second it finds something.” He waved a hand toward the door of the lab. “Go, get some sleep. I’ll watch this thing. Thor, stick with me, so you can confirm Loki’s presence when something fishy turns up.”

Bucky was going to protest the idea of Tony missing _more_ sleep - without even letting Bucky keep him company - but Steve took his arm and tugged gently toward the door, and he got the hint.

He had other places to be.

Back on their floor, Bucky followed Steve into his room, curling up on his bed.

“Your bed is better than mine,” Bucky informed Steve. “Why’d Tony give me such a plush mattress?”   
“Probably some grand scheme,” Steve said. “We’ll figure it out eventually. You sleeping in here?”

Bucky paused, then flushed. He realized that Steve never said they’d start being _together,_ or anything…just that Bucky should come to him if he wanted sex.

That could mean just about _anything,_ really.

“Uh,” Bucky murmured.

“It’s fine, if you want to,” Steve said. “I’ll just-…”

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky said, getting out of bed, and trying to slink out the room. “I sleep on the floor, better, anyway.”

Steve caught his arm. “So sleep on _my_ floor,” he said. “I don’t mind, really.”

Bucky nodded, and laid down next to Steve’s bed, trying to get comfortable.

Oddly enough, for the first time since he arrived at the tower, the floor wasn’t good enough.

 

 

Steve was snoring, but Bucky had been lying awake for about two hours, and hadn’t even managed to keep his eyes closed.

“What are we, Steve?” he asked the room, even though he knew the man was asleep and couldn’t answer. “We’re getting married, and having sex. But _platonically.”_ He combed a hand through his hair. “You don’t love me, you’ve more or less said so, and even if you did, you wouldn’t love me like I love you. You _definitely_ said that, Mr. Peggy’s-my-one-and-only.” He could imagine Steve protesting, saying _that’s not what I meant,_ and he sneered. “Yes, it is,” he told imaginary Steve. “You loved her, and you don’t love me, so what are we _doing?”_

“Talking to ourselves.”

Bucky jumped up, pulling the _one_ knife he was still carrying (his favorite, which he _always_ carried), and looking to the figure in the doorway.

“Knife down, Barnes, it’s just me,” Natasha whispered harshly. “Do you _want_ to wake Steve?”

Bucky tucked the knife away and eased out into the hall to stand with her. “What is it? Does Tony need me?”

“No,” she said. “But I do.”

He nodded. “Whatever you need. I’m with you.”

“Clint’s vanished,” she said, which made Bucky’s heart _stop._ “I think he went to scout for Loki, but he doesn’t need to be out by himself. We’ve gotta track him down and get him back before anyone knows he’s gone.”

“Why?” Bucky asked.

“He was under Loki’s control, before the Battle of New York,” she said.

Bucky nodded. “I read the files, yeah.”  
“Well, think about it,” she said. “If Hydra was on the loose, and we were trying to track them down, and you _vanished_ suddenly, what would people think?”

“That I was defecting,” Bucky said, slowly, realization dawning. “You don’t want anyone thinking he’s still loyal to Loki.”

“Exactly,” Natasha said. “So, you still with me? Or you gonna stay here and feel sorry for yourself because Steve won’t hold your hand?”

“There’s no need to be a bitch, Nat,” Bucky replied. “Of course I’m with you. Just let me get dressed in some real clothes, and we’ll head out.”


	15. Chapter 15

They stole a motorcycle form Tony’s massive garage. “Still know how to drive one of these?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Riding with me, or separate?”  
“Separate,” she said. “We’ll cover more ground that way.” Then she tossed him an earpiece.

He stuck it on. “Testing,” he called lightly, as Natasha climbed on her bike.

“I hear you,” Natasha replied.

“And I hear you,” Bucky seconded. “Where should we meet up, and when?”

“If you don’t find him by…” She checked the time – 11pm. “Let’s say 2am. If you don’t find him by 2, we’ll meet back here, and try and rethink our strategy.”   
“And if we do find him?”

Natasha sighed. “Let’s hope he’s thinking straight.”

 

 

Bucky missed riding, he realized, as the wind whipped past him while he sped down the road.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t really enjoy it, because the more he rode without finding Clint, the more worried he got.

“Nat,” he called over the comm, at around one in the morning. “We’re on the home stretch, and I’ve not found a single sign of him.” He let the bike drift for a second, coming to a stop and looking around. “And I think I’m all the way in _Harlem.”_

There was no response, which made Bucky’s heart race. “Nat?” he called.

Static came back, and then, “Hell’s Kitchen, _now.”_

Bucky was speeding that way before she’d even finished speaking.

 

 

“At the edge of Hell’s Kitchen,” Bucky called. “Where am I headed?”

More static, and then a whisper in Russian.

“Red suit?” Bucky translated. “What the fuck does that m- _Shit!”_

He swerved, the motorcycle squealing to a stop and then dropping onto its side as he bailed.

There was a man in the middle of the road, in some kind of red spandex-style suit.

Bucky pulled his gun _(13 rounds, still just 13 rounds, gotta make ‘em count)_ and pointed it at the man. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You were speaking Russian, with your friend,” the man said.

Bucky cocked his gun. “It’s a common fuckin’ language. Answer the question.”

“What do you know about the Ranskahov brothers?” the man asked.

“I don’t think you recognize the gravity of having a gun pointed at you,” Bucky said. “But it means _I_ ask the questions.”

“ _Try_ and shoot me,” the man dared.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I’d rather save my bullets, unless I _have_ to kill you, if it’s all the same to you. My fiancé is kind of down on murder.”

“Your fiancé,” the man said, slowly. “You have people you care about. You’re not heartless, not like the Ranskahovs, hm?”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Bucky said. “I really _want_ to shoot you. Especially because you seem to be doing the super-offensive thing of assuming I’m associated with some random family because I speak _Russian,_ which, I will say again, is a _fuckin’ common language.”_

The man moved forward, and Bucky fired off a round on reflex.

It glanced harmlessly off the man’s shoulder. Bucky barely had time to process before the man was in front of him, throwing a punch.

Bucky dodged, and proceeded to do that _several times_ in a row, avoiding blow after blow dealt by the strange red-suited man. “Would you calm the fuck down?” Bucky hissed, ducking a punch to the face, listening to it _swish_ through the air above him. “Because, like I said- _shit-…”_ He jumped to dodge a sweep the man did with a leg, narrowly avoiding being knocked over. “I haven’t killed anyone in, like, a _month._ Fuck!” Sidestep, duck, block. “And I’d like to keep that record, if it’s alright with you.”

“Stop talking,” the man said, and threw another punch.

Bucky let out a frustrated noise. He’d had _enough._

He waited for the man to step into his space, throwing his whole weight into a punch, and quickly reached out with his metal arm, snatching the man’s arm out of the air and flipping him onto his back. He dropped down on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

“Can we talk _now?”_ Bucky spat. “Because I’d really like to know where my friends are.”

“Your arm,” the man said. “It...it sounds different.”

“ _Sounds_ different?” Bucky asked. “What does that mean?”

“What is it?” the man asked.

“Metal,” Bucky replied. “A virtually indestructible alloy.”

The man’s lips parted in a slight ‘O’ of shock. “You’re the Winter Soldier.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky sighed. “Ding, ding, ding. You fucking _got it._ Now, who are _you?”_

“Nobody,” the man answered. “I’m just trying to protect my city.”

Bucky groaned. “Another wannabe super? Seriously? As though the kid weren’t enough…”  
“Kid?”

“Forget about it,” Bucky said. “Where are my friends?”  
“The woman from the comm,” the man said. “She’s…A few blocks to the north, it sounds like.”

“Again with the _sounds,”_ Bucky said. “You have super-hearing, huh?”

“Something like that,” he replied vaguely. “Who are the rest of your friends?”

“Just one more,” Bucky said. “Clint Barton. You’ve seen him on the news?”

The man made a small noise, almost like a laugh, that Bucky didn’t really understand. “Um, no.”

That clicked it together in Bucky’s brain. “Your suit covers your eyes,” Bucky noted. “You blind?”

“You’re very observant.”

Bucky shrugged, then thought about it, and said, “I just shrugged.”

The man laughed for real, that time. “You remind me of a friend of mine. He narrates himself for me as well.”

“Should I not?”

“I can tell what you’re doing,” the man explained. “My senses are very heightened. It’s…almost akin to sight, the picture it paints.”

“Cool,” Bucky said. He paused. “North, you said?”

“Sounds like.”

“Well,” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You coming, or what?”

 

 

“Seven guards,” the man told him, when they approached the building he’d claimed Natasha was probably in.

“I have twelve bullets,” Bucky informed him. “Let’s hope their suits aren’t as fancy as yours. These guys related to those…whatever brothers you named?”

“Probably not,” the man said. “They’re both dead. I was just making sure they didn’t have friends from the cartel coming to look for them.”

Bucky sighed. “Russian cartel. _There’s_ something I’ve never been accused of being, before.” He then tapped his comm, checking it was on. “Nat, can you hear me?”

A quick wave of static.

He took that as a _yes._ “Okay, good. I’ve got some kid with me,” the man made a noise of protest, to which Bucky held up a single finger. “Another sort-of-super. We’re at the building across the street. _Don’t make trouble until you see an opening,_ okay? Then take it, and bolt. We’ll clean up these guys, and you can go find Clint.”

But then there was gunfire coming from inside. Bucky cursed, pulling his own gun out again, only to pause, because in the time it took him to raise it up, the gunfire had ceased.

His blood ran cold. “Nat?” He called into the comm. “What just-…”

The front door of the building swung open, and Natasha strolled, out, with Clint hanging off her shoulder.

“Barnes,” she called, and held out her hand that wasn’t on Clint. Inside was a crushed comm. “You talk too much.”

Bucky sighed. “I love you,” he informed her. “You’re a goddess, and you should be feared and respected.”

“Your fiancé?” the strange man guessed.

“Uh, no. Not even close,” Bucky said. “You really don’t even listen to the news, do you?”  
“I like the radio,” he replied.

“Who’s this asshole?” Clint muttered from Natasha’s side.

“This asshole is-…” Bucky paused. “I, uh. I don’t know.”

“I’ve seen you,” Natasha said. “You were in the newspapers a lot, a couple months back. _Daredevil,_ or something, right?”

“That’s what they call me,” Daredevil replied.

“And _we_ should call you…?”

“Whatever you like,” Daredevil told her.

“No flirting, you two,” Clint drawled.   
“Good to know they didn’t knock the _massive tool_ out of you,” Bucky said.

“Never could,” Clint said.

“What were you doing out of the tower?” Bucky asked.

“I went on the roof for some air, saw a bunch of fires toward the water over here. Came to check, make sure it wasn’t Loki.”

“And you didn’t think to ask for _backup?”_ Natasha scolded. Clint shrugged, and Natasha shoved him toward Bucky. “ _You_ take him, his stupid is weighing me down.”

Bucky picked him up bridal-style, just to piss him off. Sure enough, he immediately started to bitch. Bucky just tuned it out, smiling at Daredevil. “Thanks for the help finding Nat. If you need me to return the favor, swing by the Tower. I’m bored up there most of the time anyways.”

“I thought you’d be busy fucking your soon-to-be-husband,” Natasha drawled.

Bucky kept his eyes on Daredevil. If he could see the man’s full face, he imagined it’d look _shocked._

“C’mon, Clint,” Bucky said, deciding not to push Daredevil with a ‘ _You better not be homophobic’_ lecture, like the one Sam had given him. “Let’s head back home.”  
“You just wanna cuddle Cap,” Clint sighed. “Where are _my_ cuddles?”

“In a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere,” Bucky replied easily. “But _no_ , you’d rather shoot bad guys. With a bow and arrow. _Idiot_.”

 

 

 

Bucky went to his own room, when they returned to the tower, not even really considering returning to Steve’s.

He stretched out on the floor, and within seconds, was slipping off to sleep.

 

 

Morning came too soon.

Bucky had been dreaming in abstract shapes and colors, with the feeling of warm arms around him present throughout the whole thing. Generally pleasant, in other words – as opposed to how he woke up.

Which was to say, being yelled at. “Where were you?” Steve shouted.

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “ _Sleeping.”_

“We’re on our guard because of Loki, now’s not the time to vanish in the night.”

“I was _down the hall,_ relax,” Bucky sighed.

“Then how come when I asked Friday how long you’d been here, she said you, Clint, and Natasha didn’t come into the _building_ until three a.m.?”  
Bucky glared at the ceiling. “You’re a _traitor_ , Friday.”

“You know you shouldn’t leave the tower when we’re awaiting orders,” Steve said.   
“I’m sorry, am I Rapunzel, now?” Bucky said. “Locked in a tower and not allowed to leave until some douchebag comes and gets me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Steve said. “You just need to be aware that you’re making people worry.”

“Only because you checked _how long I’ve been here,_ like some kind of stalker.”

“I only meant to see what time you left my room,” Steve said. “I just phrased it weirdly, and she answered literally.”

“Why does it matter when I left?”

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t just wait for me to pass out and then bail,” Steve answered quietly.

Bucky sighed heavily. “No. I was in your room for like two hours before I gave up sleeping.”

Steve shifted his weight between feet. “What were you doing out, last night?”

“Gay bar crawl,” Bucky answered dryly.   
“I’m serious.”

“Who says I’m not?”

Steve and Bucky locked eyes, staring each other down for a minute. Finally, Steve exhaled sharply, relenting. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me. Why’d you leave my room?”  
“For the gay bar crawl,” Bucky answered.

“I mean, why didn’t you come _back.”_

“I’m right here.”  
Steve made a frustrated noise. “ _Bucky_ , seriously?”

Bucky sighed, flopping back down onto his back on the floor. “Fine! I can’t fall asleep in your room.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Do you know why…?”  
Bucky sat back up and shrugged. “I guess I’m just used to having my own space, now,” he lied.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What are you hiding, Buck?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky said evenly. “Let’s go get breakfast, yeah?”

 

 

 

 _It’s Okay with Me_ by Manchester Orchestra was stuck in Bucky’s head throughout most of breakfast, and he wondered if Friday had played it while he was sleeping to fuck with him.

Probably.

Whatever the cause, it was ruining the residual good mood he’d had.

“What day is it?” Clint asked, stumbling into the room. Bucky was confused, for a second, before remembering their _bar crawl_ cover story, and realizing Clint was pretending to be hungover.

“Uh, Thursday,” Steve answered.

Bucky sighed. “Yesterday was eventful,” he told Clint. “Don’t feel bad for forgetting. I was pretty sure it was a Saturday.”

“We stayed out ‘til 3 on a _Wednesday?”_ Clint asked, incredulous. “Ha! Take that, people who call me _old.”_

“You’re still old,” Pietro piped in. “You’re just also an alcoholic.”

“Hey, I drink in _moderation,”_ Clint said. “…Most of the time.”

“Last night was not _moderation_ ,” Natasha called as she entered the room, making a bee-line for the fridge. “We dragged your ass home like a corpse.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Corpses talk don’t mouth off every time you hit a bump.”

“You did it on purpose,” Clint groaned. “Like you _wanted_ me to throw up.”

“You held it together marvelously, and I’m proud,” Bucky told him.

 

 

Steve watched the exchange with a clenched jaw.

Something told him they were lying, that they’d done something else the night before, and he wasn’t sure what he _wanted_ to believe.

If they went out to a bar, that (potentially) meant they weren’t taking Loki’s threat seriously.

If they were hiding something…well, that was just _bad._ No way anything good happened if they were going through such lengths to hide it.

And then there was Bucky. He was _definitely_ hiding something. Steve didn’t get it.

He loved Bucky, he really did. Sometimes he was confused as to what kind of love it was, but no matter what, the two were best friends. He figured…maybe, _maybe,_ he could be what Bucky needed. A fake wedding for the press and a sexual relationship for the two of them, and Bucky would have his bases covered. Not to mention, Steve would get to be closer to an actual _real_ relationship with someone he loved, who he’d loved since childhood.

But Bucky was, if anything, pulling away. Steve had thought, when they took their shower together the day before, that everything was solved, but here Bucky was brushing him off and acting like nothing was changed.

Steve was so damn _confused._

Maybe…

Maybe Bucky didn’t _want_ Steve to be everything he needed. Maybe he just didn’t want Steve, full stop.

The thought made Steve’s chest hurt, but he resigned himself to the possibility.

It didn’t matter what Steve wanted from Bucky. Bucky deserved to get what _he_ wanted, for once.

Even if it wasn’t Steve.

 

 

 

 

Bucky managed to get left alone for most of the day.

And, by ‘getting left alone,’ he meant that he skillfully _avoided_ everyone for a whole day.

Until he, quite literally, ran into Parker in the hall on his way to check on Tony in the lab.

“U-um,” Parker stuttered, backing up. “H-hello! Are you…are you still mad about yesterday…?”

“I wasn’t mad _yesterday_ about yesterday,” Bucky sighed. “What makes you think I’m mad now?”

“Um,” Parker said. “The fact you kind of… _sound_ mad?”

“I’m having a rough day,” Bucky replied. “And _no_ , I _don’t_ want to tell you about it.”

Parker’s face screwed up, and he straightened up. “Did I do something to upset you, sir? Before yesterday.”

“What?” Bucky asked. “No.”

“You just- you act like I’m _awful,”_ Parker said. “But I don’t know _why.”_

Bucky sighed. “Look, kid-…”

“I’m not a kid,” Parker said.

“You are to me,” Bucky replied coolly. “ _Everyone’s_ basically a kid, to me, but you especially. Since you’re only 17.”

“I’ll be 18 in August,” he muttered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious. “What day?”

“The tenth.”

Bucky groaned.

“What?”  
“That’s my _wedding day,_ you little shit,” Bucky said. “We’re gonna share a holiday.”

Parker suddenly looked _thrilled._ “You guys are still getting married? Even though you-…”

“I _told_ you,” Bucky said. “Steve didn’t really care.” 

Parker looked a little pouty, so Bucky sighed, and added, “ _But,_ we did talk about it, and I’m not gonna do it anymore.”

Parker grinned widely. “That’s great! I can’t wait to see the footage of your wedding, honestly, it’s gonna be-…”

“Footage?” Bucky asked. “You’re not coming?”

Parker blinked. “Wait, I’m _invited_?!”

“Duh,” Bucky replied. “You work for Tony, so you have a reason to show up as far as the press are concerned, and as far as we go, you’re an Avenger.”

Suddenly, Parker was _hugging_ him. He pushed the teen away as gently as possible. “Hey, personal fucking space. Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry!” Parker said. “Sorry, I just got excited. No one’s really, like, _officially_ called me an Avenger yet.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Get used to it, kiddo. When people are cursing us for accidentally wrecking a city block, you’ll get sick of hearing it.”

Parker nodded, but looked doubtful of that. Bucky decided to drop it.

“Hey, are you coming from the lab?” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Parker said. “I was just going to talk to Thor, and tell him the scanners haven’t picked up anything weird, in case he wants to take a break.”

“Is Tony okay?” Bucky asked.

Parker nodded. “He’s fine! He looks kind of…crazy, though. Like he’s been awake too long, or had too much coffee, or both.”

“So, normal,” Bucky said. “Good. That means I can go back to avoiding everyone.”

“Why’re you avoiding the other Avengers?”

“Because I got punched in the face last night, and I’m still a little bitter about it,” Bucky sighed.

“What? Who hit you?” Parker sounded outraged.

“Some dude, who didn’t know who I was. Kind of… racist, I guess – yelled at me for speaking Russian,” Bucky said, trying to keep vague as to stick with their cover. “Just a bar fight, nothing important. And before you ask, no, I didn’t hit back. Natasha took care of it.”

“Oh, jeez,” Parker said. “Do you want me to tell-…”

“No!” Bucky said quickly. “No. I’m not telling _anyone,_ alright? Especially not Steve. You get me? _Steve. Can’t. Know.”_

“Why not?” Parker asked.

“Because he worries too much,” Bucky answered, finally saying something honest. “And a lot of stuff happened last night, and if I tell him part of it, he’ll want to know more. And there’s a _lot_ I don’t intend for him to know.”

“That’s not good,” Parker said.

“Yeah, I _know_ it’s not,” Bucky said. “But I don’t have a lot of options. I just got Steve to _stop_ yelling at me, thanks.”

 

 

“Cut the video feed,” Steve said. “I don’t wanna hear any more.”

The video of Bucky cut off. Bucky _was_ hiding something, including things like an actual _bar fight_.

Maybe snooping on Bucky had been a bad thing to do, but he’d just been looking to see where the man _was._ He hadn’t meant to listen so long, but he’d seen him talking to Peter, and…

And he was an awful person, who just spied on his best friend.

But at least he wasn’t keeping “a lot of things” secret.

He was so curious what had happened the night before, and he didn’t know who to go to in order to find out. Natasha would lie, Clint would deflect, Bucky would…do whatever Bucky _felt_ like doing, he supposed.

He’d have to wait it out.

The truth would come out, eventually.

 

 

“Eventually” ended up being that Saturday.

The Avengers (sans Tony and Thor, who were still on Loki watch, the former only pausing for powernaps and protein shakes) were eating breakfast, when Friday announced, “Sargent Barnes. You have a caller.”

“Page them through,” Bucky said, around a mouthful of cereal, which had Natasha scold him with a quiet, _“Manners, Barnes.”_

“Sir, in this context, ‘caller’ means…” Friday stopped, and started again. “There is someone in the lobby asking for you.”  
“Oh,” Bucky said. “Reporter? Tell ‘em to piss off.”

“His file declares him a lawyer,” she said, and a screen appeared with a file labeled _Matthew Murdock._ “Spotless record. Excellent at his job. Known for accepting unconventional payment, typically-…”

“Sex?” Clint suggested.

“ _Food,”_ Friday powered on. “Aged 33, and entirely blind, he-…”

“Wait, back up,” Bucky said. “You say _blind?”_

Clint and Natasha had wide eyes turned on Bucky, clearly the only two who understood what was happening. “Is it…?” Natasha said.

“Your guy from Wednesday night,” Clint said. “It’s gotta be.”

Steve froze in mid-bite of his eggs.

And then he was _pissed_.

They _had_ done a bar crawl, it seemed. And, despite Bucky agreeing _not_ to sleep with people other than Steve, he apparently did it anyway.

He straightened in his seat, prepping to say something, but in the time it took him to open his mouth, Bucky was out of the room.

“Must be hot,” Wanda joked, “If he’s _that_ excited.”

Steve slumped in his seat.

_Must be._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops this chapter hurts a lot

Bucky stepped out of the elevator in the lobby, ignoring all the reporters who were automatically pulling out phones, recorders, cameras, and more.

He focused, instead, on the man in front of the receptionist’s desk, arms folded and resting atop a cane, a pair of dark sunglasses protecting his blind eyes.

Knowing that Daredevil – _Matt,_ apparently – could tell what he was doing just fine, he stuck his tongue out, watching Matt’s lips quirk up into a little smirk.

There was another man, Bucky noticed, standing at Matt’s side, one hand on the blind man’s arm.

His StarkPhone beeped in his pocket, and he pulled it out, to see a full dossier had been downloaded. _Franklin Nelson,_ it was labeled.

“Thank you, Friday,” he whispered.

He put his phone away and approached the two men, suddenly very aware of the fact he hadn’t stopped to put on a jacket or gloves.

He reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his left sleeve, making sure his star was covered.

It was. _Thank God._

“Mister Murdock,” Bucky greeted casually, as though he had every reason to have invited a lawyer to the tower. “And, Mister Nelson, correct?”

Nelson looked at him suspiciously, even while displaying a bright smile, making for a rather twisted and awkward expression. “Yes, that’s it. You needed a consult?”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Bucky said. “If you’ll come up with me, we’ll talk somewhere more quiet.”

They followed him into the elevator. Bucky let it ride for a second in silence, and then said, “Friday, stop the lift.”

The elevator halted.

“Okay, trapped in a deathbox with an assassin,” Nelson said, looking around. “Remind me again how this was a good plan, Matt?”

“Sargent Barnes,” Matt greeted, as though the whole thing were an accidental encounter on the street. “Meet my partner, Foggy Nelson.”  
“Your file says _Franklin,”_ Bucky informed him.   
“Yeah? Weird, so does my birth certificate.”

Matt smiled, like his friend _wasn’t_ be a smartass. “We need your help.”

“I told you I owed you a favor, and I’m good for that,” Bucky said.

“Sargent Barnes, are you requesting privacy?” Friday suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“Granting request for privacy,” Friday said. “Very good choice, Sargent Barnes.”

“Shit,” Bucky said. “Who’s trying to snoop?”

“Wait, what just happened?” Foggy asked.

“Someone’s trying to get video feed of me,” Bucky said. “Friday, start the elevator again. Take us to my floor, and then _lock it down._ Not even Steve, got me? _Especially_ not Steve.”

“I can only lock him out for an hour,” Friday said. “Security protocol, as Miss Romanov would often lock Mister Barton out of their floor.”

“Well then, guys,” Bucky said to the two beside him. “You’ll have to talk fast.”

 

 

“So, is there a reason we’re suddenly being treated as Top Secret?” Foggy asked, when they reached his floor. Then, he looked around, letting out a low whistle. “Nice _digs.”_

Bucky shrugged. “It’s excessive, but that’s Tony’s whole personality.”

“And… _Steve_ , he shares this floor with you?” Matt asked. “Your fiancé?”

“Yeah, you guessed it,” Bucky said. “Though, maybe not for long, if he keeps _fucking snooping.”_

“Well, you did just bring two lawyers into your house,” Foggy said. “If _my_ fiancé did that, I’d be a little suspicious. Not that I have one.”

There was a _ping_. “What _now_ , Friday?” Bucky groaned.

“Mister Stark,” she informed him. “He requests…Well, I’ll play it.”

And then Tony’s voice: _“Tell him if he’s having an orgy, all participants should sign an NDA and provide proof of a valid and in-date STD check.”_

“Tell him he can shove it up his ass,” Bucky bit back. “I swear, I can’t even lock the fucking door around here.”

He turned to Foggy and Matt. “Okay, shoot. What’s the crisis?”

“People keep vanishing,” Matt said. “A couple people in our apartment building, a woman from our favorite coffee shop, a bunch of friends and family of old clients. Probably a lot of people we don’t know, too.”

“That’s a lot of missing persons,” Bucky said. “But I’m gonna be honest, it still sounds mundane.”

“They’re not just vanishing, they’re coming back,” Matt continued.   
“That’s…good…?” Bucky shook his head. “Okay, you lost me.”

“They all have amnesia. _Bad_ amnesia, like, they can’t even remember how to speak. Total baby-brain,” Foggy explained.

Bucky tensed. “It _sounds_ like someone got a hold of a Hydra mind-wipe machine and is testing it out,” he said. “Except even _worse._ Which is _very_ _bad.”_

“Yeah, it sounds like it,” Foggy agreed weakly.

“Will you help us?” Matt said.

“Don’t even worry about the favor, Murdock,” Bucky replied. “I’m more than happy to do this one with you. When do we start?”

“We can-…”

“Security protocols being overridden,” Friday announced.

“What the _fuck,_ Tony,” Bucky hissed. “Pass that on, Friday. Ask him _what the honest fuck.”_

“What the _fuck,”_ Clint said, stepping off the elevator, “Is we have a ping on the radar, and Thor’s on his way to confirm. We don’t have time for whatever party you’re having.”

“Shit,” Bucky said. “Matt, Foggy, it was nice to meet you, but I have ass to kick. Let me see your phones.”

Matt obligingly held out his phone, and Bucky punched the number in, handing it back. Foggy just looked suspicious, so Bucky rolled his eyes and told him, “Get it from Matt, then. The elevator will take you straight to the lobby, and nowhere else – right, Friday?”

“Correct. If you would, sirs.”

Matt held out his hand, and Foggy pressed his elbow into it, before guiding his friend to the elevator.

The doors closed, and they let the elevator screen’s numbers tick down a few times before anyone spoke.

“You and me,” Steve said, staring Bucky down. “Need to _talk,_ the second this is over.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Let’s pray it takes a while, then.”

 

 

 

The sighting was in, of all places, _Paris, France._

“ _Est-ce que quelqu'un ici parle français?”_ Natasha asked on the way.

“ _Je fais,”_ Bucky replied. “ _Mais il est terrible_.”

“Okay, English, please,” Tony called from the cockpit. “Language of love is getting me a little uncomfortable.”

“Tony has a language kink, pass it on,” Clint called.

“Is that a thing?” Steve asked.

“Wanna find out? I can see what I remember,” Bucky said, and then leaned forward, speaking in rapid, soft French. “ _Baise-moi. Ou, mieux encore, la seconde nous revenons à la tour, laissez-moi vous baiser. Je ne l'ai pas essayé depuis des années. Je parie que vous serez grand comme un fond. Vous étiez une vierge il y a quelques jours, alors vous êtes probablement bien serré, aussi.”_

“Ugh,” Natasha said. “That is _vulgar._ And your grammar is awful.” She sniffed. “And if you were going for _bottom,_ I’ll have you know you said _background.”_

Bucky shrugged. “I tried.”

“Do I even wanna know what you said?” Steve asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Bucky said.

“He asked you to bottom,” Clint said. “Or, uh, to _background._ Nat’s right, your French is _shitty_.”

Steve blushed hard. “Oh. Uh. Okay?”

“I’m going to throw up,” Wanda said.

Steve blushed harder. “I- I’m sorry, I forgot you were here.”  
“Cap’s got a language kink,” Tony called. “Pass it on.”

“I can do Russian?” Bucky suggested.

“Yeah, that’s not sexy,” Tony said. “It’s just scary.”

Bucky shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

“Talking dirty’s best in English, anyway,” Natasha said. Then she grinned. “Yo, Barnes, you and me take turns on Clint. Whoever gets him to pop a boner wins.”

“Um, _no,”_ Clint said immediately. “There are _children_ present _.”_

“We’re twenty-two,” Pietro protested, but Wanda elbowed him.

“Yes, young children,” she said. “Please think of us, and our small _innocent_ minds, before you do these things.”

“Are you three so single-minded?” Steve asked. “We’re about to face off against Loki, _again,_ and you’re talking about sex.”

The jet fell silent. “Steve, we’ve really gotta work on your internal slut-shaming,” Tony finally said.

“I just think there’s a time and a place,” Steve said. “The latter of which being _the bedroom.”_

“Boring,” Clint called. “Barnes, your fiancé is vanilla.”

“Please,” Bucky said. “Vanilla’s too much for him. He’s just _water.”_

Natasha choked. “Oh, my _God.”_

“And on that _fantastic_ note,” Tony announced. “We’re in Paris.”

 

 

They touched down on the helipad of a public airport, which Tony had apparently called ahead to commandeer.

Tony clicked a button on his watch, and the suit broke away from its secure place in the plane, assembling around him. “I’m gonna go meet up with Thor,” he said. “You guys surround the area until our recon’s done, then come in.” He nodded to Steve. “Cap, the rest of this thing is your call, as per usual. So, you know. Don’t let being pissed off and jealous get in the way.”

“I’m not…”

Tony flew off before Steve could finish.

 

 

 

The mission took about twenty minutes to go to shit.

It started off fine, with Steve signaling everyone to sentry positions around the city, which they held carefully, awaiting further instructions.

The problem, though, was that Steve decided to do the sentry posts in _pairs._ Wanda and Pietro, Clint and Natasha, Vision and Bruce.

And, of course, him and Bucky.

Which is where the ‘shitty’ part of the mission began _._

“So,” Steve said, while they waited for Tony to call for them over the comms. “Who’s Murdock?”

“You were there when Friday told me,” Bucky answered.

“But you met him _before_ that.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “Really, Steve? You wanna do this _now?”_

“When else, Buck?” Steve asked. “You shut me down or avoid me when I wanna talk. So I’m not giving you the chance to run.”

“Yeah, because _that’s_ a healthy relationship,” Bucky said. “Bullying me into talking about something I’ve set clear boundaries around.”

“I’m not _bullying_ you,” Steve said. “I’m just making sure you didn’t break your promise.”  
“What promise?” Bucky asked. “I don’t remember any promise.”

“You said you wouldn’t sleep a- with other people.”

“No, go ahead, say it,” Bucky said. “ _Sleep around._ That’s what you mean, so _say_ it. And you know what? I never promised I wouldn’t. I agreed to have sex with you. I never promised to stop having it with other people.”

“So you _did_ sleep with him,” Steve said.   
“I never said that,” Bucky replied.

“Pretty sure you just did, actually.”

“No. I said that I’m not obligated to avoid it, if I want to, because I never promised anything. But I’ve never fucked Murdock.”

“And the guy he was with?”

“Nelson? I just met him when he showed up at the tower with Matt.”

“So he’s _Matt,_ now,” Steve muttered.

“Oh, my _God,”_ Bucky groaned. “Listen to yourself. This is the most like a bitchy housewife you’ve ever sounded. Gonna go through my phone, next? Call any numbers you don’t recognize?”

“What?” Steve said, eyebrows knitting up. “No, Bucky, I’m not gonna- you watch too much TV. I’m not gonna invade your privacy.”  
“What do you call this, then?” He waved between them. “Some kind of intervention? ‘ _Bucky, I think you’re a sex addict.’”_

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were,” Steve said.

“Oh, and the truth comes out,” Bucky glared at him. “You don’t like me having sex. Why? Is it not part of the Bucky you remember? God knows you hate when I deviate from your pattern.”

“If you two are _done_ with your stupid domestic argument _–_ which _we can hear_ , by the way,” Natasha’s voice crackled over the comms. “We have an actual _job_ to do.”

Bucky and Steve glared at each other for a second longer, before looking back into the woods, each turning their eyes back to the sight of Iron Man’s red-and-gold suit in the sky.

Bucky wished he’d known it was only downhill from there.

 

 

 

“Cap,” Tony called through the comm, floating above the small gathering of trees in a park. “I’ve got eyes on-…” He cut off, and let off a string of curses. “Do _not_ engage _,”_ he hissed. “He’s got a woman with him. Looks like a civilian.”

Bucky had been actually armed for this fight, both with his favored pistol ( _and all 12 remaining rounds_ ) and his trusted knives, _and_ with a state-of-the-art new sniper rifle.

He pulled the last item off his back the second the word “civilian” left Tony’s mouth, and set it up, before looking through the scope to where Loki was.

Through the scope, he saw Loki holding something. “He’s got his hands on something,” Bucky said through the comm. “It’s…some kind of rock?”

The rock was more like a gem, really, and it was _glowing,_ a rich yellow color. Bucky relayed this information over the comm.

“Vision, your theory,” Wanda said.

“Yes, indeed,” Vision replied.

“Um, I’m sorry, does someone wanna fill in the rest of us?” Tony asked.

“I had a theory, doubtful as it was at the time, that Loki would attempt to create a false Mind Stone. He would need a lot of power for it, however, and I don’t know where he’d get that.”

Bucky thought back to Matt’s words. “Would it be able to alter people’s minds?” he asked. “Like the real Mind Stone can?”

“Not as delicately,” Vision said. “It would be akin to attempting needlework with a sword. The minds would likely be damaged beyond repair.”

Bucky hissed out a quiet curse. “I have to make a call.”

“Are you _serious?”_ Steve demanded. “Right now?”

“Loki’s been in Hell’s Kitchen. Or, someone with that kind of Stone has, at least.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked. “Is that what Murdock told you?”

“Yep,” Bucky said. “Well, not as much. He said basically half the city has had their brains wiped.”

“Their mental capabilities, memories, that sort of thing – those are all likely still stored within the false Stone,” Vision said. “We destroy it, then with luck, they are healed.”

“Alright,” Bucky said, and switched on his laser sight.

“Barnes, if you shoot that, I swear to God-…”

Bucky fired.

 

 

The shockwave knocked him into a building. He heard a sickening _crack_ and pain filled his whole body, but he was too in shock to react. Too taken aback to take inventory of his bones, determine which one broke.

He did have time for a quick prayer that it wasn’t his spine.

By the time he got a hold of his senses, someone was in his face, yelling something.

He couldn’t even tell if he knew the person or not. He _definitely_ had no idea what they were saying. It all sounded like nonsense.

There was a hand on his face – _warm, strong, familiar –_ and that was the final straw.

He blacked out.

 

 

“Sargent Barnes,” an unfamiliar voice greeted him.

 _He doesn’t sound Russian,_ the Soldier’s brain managed to slug out. _I bet he gets our code phrase wrong, the first time._

“Reporting,” he tried to say. It came out raspy and slurred.

He braced for the shock of the chair.

None came.

There was a lot of _noise,_ though. The Soldier wondered if that was the new punishment. Just endless white noise.

He _hated_ noise. He hoped they went back to shocks, soon.

Someone touched his face. _Inspecting me…? I haven’t even been assigned a mission yet._

“-cky. Bucky, can you hear me?”

The Soldier could already tell it was too bright to open his eyes, by how white the insides of his eyelids were.

He opened them anyway.

In front of him, stood…

Steve Rogers.

The memories of the past months came flooding back, and Bucky let his eyes slide back closed.

“ _Shit.”_

 

 

 

Eventually, he came around enough to open his eyes and keep them that way, at which point the strange man in the room opened a file folder, and began listing numbers.

“36. 200. 14. 140 million.”

“If you’re trying to do a reset, it’s not all numbers,” Bucky quipped.

“Not the time, Buck,” Steve whispered.

“Those numbers are _damages,”_ the man said. “36 dead, over 200 wounded. 14 buildings _leveled_. $140 _million_ in damages. And they went easy on us, when it came time to pay.”

Bucky winced. “Let me guess. I have the right to remain silent…?”

“And I suggest you exercise it,” the man said.

“You’re not under arrest, Bucky,” Tony said. “But most people wish you were.”

“Does that include you?”

“Honestly? A little. I tried to _tell_ _you_ not to shoot the thing.”

Bucky let out a small whine. “Vision said to destroy it.”

“It’s _magic,”_ Tony said. “Or, at least, highly advanced science we can’t explain yet. You can’t just put a bullet in it.”

Bucky let his head fall back against the hospital bed he was strapped into.

Wait, _strapped?_

He looked down at his wrists, pulling. Sure enough, _metal restraints_ were holding him in.

His breathing became labored.

“Bucky?” Steve said. “Bucky, calm down, you’re okay, we just didn’t know who’d be waking up in there, we had to take precautions.”

“Get them _off.”_

Steve looked to Tony, who hit a button on the wall. The cuffs released instantly, and Bucky took advantage of his mobility to pull his knees up and tuck his face down against them, trying to calm his breathing.

“I hate to do this,” the man said, “Because the Avengers are necessary. I truly believe they are. But you’re going to have to lay low for a while, let PR clean things up. I wouldn’t be surprised if people didn’t ask you to come back.”   
“But I was trying to help,” Bucky protested.

“But you _didn’t,_ and that’s all people care about,” the man said. “It’s one thing to destroy a city while trying to save the world. It’s another thing to _completely_ _level a one-mile radius_ on the off chance it may do something good.”

The man left the room, and suddenly, Bucky couldn’t breathe.

 

 

Hydra had succeeded in their ultimate mission.

They’d created an unstoppable force of _death._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is half porn and half sads

Tony flew them all to an island he apparently owned, but no one was in the mood to crack a joke about his frivolous spending.

“Seriously, guys,” Bucky said, for the third time on the ride there. “Just leave me there and go back home. _I’m_ the problem. I’m the one who fucked up.”

“We’re giving it a week,” Tony said. “Just a week, and then we’re _all_ going back – you included, Barnes – to help with cleanup and relief. The Maria Stark Foundation is already on scene, and our PR team is working round-the-clock. You’ll be fine, Bucky. We do this for Bruce all the time.”

Bruce gave a shy smile. “It’s true,” he said. “I’ve done a lot more for a lot less.”

Bucky buried his face into his hands. “I’m so fucking _stupid.”_

“Yeah, well,” Tony said. “You’ve had a rough week.”

 

 

Tony clapped his hands together when they exited the jet, before gesturing broadly around. He’d parked in the center of a little...hamlet, village, thing. “All these little shacks were put up by the last owner, and they were too cute to take down. I had them updated with Stark Industries tech, though, and Friday connects them all. There’s five, so we can just pair off.”

“Clint, you’re with me,” Natasha said immediately.

Pietro and Wanda said nothing out loud. Their claim was understood.

“I call Bruce,” Tony said. “Thor and Vision, you two should bunk up.”

Which left…

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Tony. “You’re not subtle,” he told him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony said. “Enjoy your prenuptials. Oh, and I’ll call in a few bots to deliver some clothes and such.”

There were two bedrooms in the beach house, which is what Bucky decided to think of it as, as it was _way_ too technologically and architecturally advance to be the ‘shack’ Tony referred to it as.

Bucky stared around the interior of the house, thinking to himself, _This would be a good honeymoon spot, if we ever actually get to that point._

Steve walked past him, looking into various doorways. “Mind if I take the downstairs bedroom?”

Bucky preferred to be closer to the ground, when possible. “No,” he lied. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t deserve any special treatment. This wasn’t a vacation, this was an _exile._

Steve poked his head into the bedroom he’d claimed, humming in thought. “This is kind of nice,” he declared.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. He still hadn’t moved.

Steve sighed, and walked up to Bucky. “Bucky, you _tried_ to do the right thing, okay? Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Bucky just looked away.

Steve responded by grabbing his chin, pulling his head back up. “Buck, look at me.”

Bucky reluctantly made eye contact.

They stared at each other for a moment, a silent challenge exchanged: who would make the first move?

Finally, Steve leaned in, pressing the softest of kisses to Bucky’s lips.

Bucky didn’t want _soft._

Soft felt too much like _pity._

He wanted _rage._

He pushed back into the kiss, full force, even going so far as to nip at Steve’s lip.

Steve rose to the bait, easily.

He reached behind Bucky, grabbing him by the ass and scooping him up. Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve, tangling his hands into the man’s hair and forcing his kiss even harder into the man’s mouth.  Steve moved one full arm to support his weight, the other hand going to Bucky’s hair in return.

And, just experimentally, he _pulled._

Bucky broke the kiss with a gasp, letting his head be pulled back, exposing his neck. Steve took the offered skin, sucking and biting and kissing along it, leaving small red marks in his wake, before pulling back. “Bed?”

Bucky shook his head. “Just the wall,” he said. “Fuck me _here.”_

Steve took a step to the wall, so that Bucky was pinned between his chest and the wall behind him. Using the wall as a support to hold Bucky up, he moved his hands, pulling Bucky’s shirt off. He then set Bucky down, nibbling his earlobe for a second before ordering, _“Strip.”_

Bucky had the rest of his clothes off in seconds. Steve, on the other hand, took his time.

Bucky didn’t wait for Steve to be naked before pressing against him, licking and sucking along _his_ neck in a sensual revenge act. When Steve _was_ naked, he put his hands back into Bucky’s hair. “You like having this pulled, huh?” he asked, voice low, giving another experimental tug.

Bucky just moaned in response.

Steve kept one hand fisted in the strands, and put the other on Bucky’s shoulder, lowering him to his knees.

Bucky didn’t need any instructions. He took Steve into his hands, stroking him to fullness, and then licked slowly along the shaft of it before taking the head into his mouth.

Steve used Bucky’s hair like a handle, controlling the pace Bucky set with his mouth.

Bucky seemed to _like_ giving head, but Bucky had also made it clear that he wanted to be _punished_ with this fuck.

So Steve gave him what he wanted. Every time Bucky’s eyes slid shut in bliss or he started to moan around Steve’s cock, Steve would tighten his fist in Bucky’s hair and pull him off, holding him at a distance until he was panting and, at one point, _pleading_ to continue.

“Let me make you feel good, Stevie,” Bucky said.

“You ever found out,” Steve asked, very slowly, “how many times we can cum before we’re exhausted?”

Bucky shook his head. “No idea.” Then, he gave a wicked grin. “Let’s find out.”

So Steve stopped pulling Bucky off him, and let him suck him off until he came.

And then he held him there, letting him continue to tongue at Steve’s soft dick until it got hard again about a minute later.

 _Then,_ finally, Steve pulled him off for the last time, and release Bucky’s hair. “Turn around. Put your hands on the wall.”

Bucky obeyed, and Steve got to _his_ knees, spreading Bucky’s cheeks with his hands and starting to work his ass with his tongue.

Bucky automatically reached for his dick, but Steve reached around to bat his hands away.

“Cocktease,” Bucky breathed, but barely made it through the whole word before he was moaning.

Steve kept that up for a few minutes, until Bucky was _shaking_ under his fingers.

“You have lube?” Steve asked, and Bucky shook his head.  
“I don’t exactly carry it on missi- Oh!” Bucky turned to raise an eyebrow at Steve over his shoulder. “Did you just _spank_ me?”

“Too much?” Steve asked.

“Not enough,” Bucky replied. “Kinky Steve is nice. Let’s have more Kinky Steve.”

Steve pulled away from Bucky, saying, “Stay there,” and went to the bathroom to look for something lube-adjacent.

Luckily, Tony was the _king_ of random sexual encounters, and had a whole drawer in the bathroom of condoms and, of course, one good-sized bottle of lube.

Steve returned with his prize in hand to find Bucky stroking himself.

Remembering Bucky’s enjoyment of it the first time, Steve smacked his ass again.

Bucky immediately moved his hand away.

“Good,” Steve said, and took Bucky’s right hand, squirting lube into it. “Prep yourself.”

“Still too lazy to do it yourself?” Bucky teased.  
“I just like watching you,” Steve corrected.

Bucky made a show of it. Slow, languid strokes of his cock and a steady rocking of his hips back onto his fingers, he prepped himself.

No, _teased_ himself would be a better thing to say. Far more accurate.

Steve stroked himself, too, while he watched. Eventually, the need to touch became too great, and he leaned forward, capturing Bucky in a kiss.

Bucky kissed erratically, and his fluid motions started to stutter. “I’m gonna-…”

“Go ahead,” Steve said.

Bucky came with a shout, and Steve finished right after him, both of them cumming onto Bucky’s chest.  
Steve, curious to what it tasted like, licked a bit of the semen off of Bucky’s nipple. It was…pretty gross, but tolerable, if it meant access to Bucky’s body. He took the whole nipple in his mouth and _sucked._

Bucky moaned loudly. “Shit, I’m _sensitive_ there, St—eve… oh, _shit,”_ Bucky cried out.

Steve pulled off, giving a small lick before backing off completely. “Uh-huh. Just having an orgasm probably doesn’t help.”

And then he started on the _other one._

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky panted. “Need you in me, _right now.”_

Steve obliged, but not the way Bucky wanted. Instead, he reached around, without letting go of Bucky’s nipple, and slipped a finger into him.

Bucky pushed back onto it immediately. “Shiit, Steve,” he cried out. “More. Not enough, need _more.”_

Steve went straight from one finger to three, curling them slightly inside of Bucky, testing. He searched for the spot he knew was there, and…

“Oh _fuck!”_ Bucky cried out.

Ah. _Got it._

Steve began shifting his fingers in Bucky, pulling them out slightly and then shoving them back against that spot, over and over, while switching between Bucky’s nipples.

Soon, Bucky was warning him he was going to cum again, so Steve did the only sensible thing.

He pulled away completely.  
Bucky shook, bucking his hips slightly to chase the feeling as Steve pulled his fingers out. “Steevee,” he whined, but Steve was already scooping him up again, and pressing him back into the wall. With him pinned, he pushed Bucky’s legs up, until his knees were over Steve’s arms on either side of him, and Steve used the open access the position provided to enter him.

Bucky almost came immediately.

Steve wasted no time, sliding in and out of Bucky, almost completely, again and again. Filing him up, hitting the spot that made him _shout_ Steve’s name, over and over.

Then Steve lifted Bucky off the wall, and carried him to the couch, laying him on his back. With the laying position, Steve managed to get even deeper, and make Bucky absolutely _quiver_ with pleasure.

“Gonna cum again,” Bucky warned. “Shit, shit, _Steve.”_

“Go ahead,” Steve told him.

Bucky clenched down around Steve, and came so hard he almost blacked out.

Steve kept riding him through the whole thing, only slowing down just as the orgasm ended.

“You got any more in you?” he asked.

Bucky grinned, and reached down, starting to stroke at his cock. “Maybe one.”

Steve started slowly rolling his hips, fucking Bucky lightly, until he was fully hard again. Then he built back up to their brutal pace, fucking as deep into Bucky as he could go.

Bucky pushed on Steve’s chest, just as he could feel his muscles start tensing. “Let me ride you,” he said.

Steve obligingly flipped them, and Bucky took over setting the pace, rocking against Steve, getting him deep and keeping him there while maintaining friction.

“Cumming,” Steve warned.  
“Yeah,” Bucky breathed. “Yeah, me too.”

They managed to actually cum at almost the exact same time, making a mess of Steve’s chest.

“Hey, look,” Steve panted, pointing to the cum coating him, and then the same on Bucky. “We match.”  
They dissolved into sleepy, well-fucked giggles, before dozing off, naked and sticky, on the couch together.

In hindsight, a bad idea.

 

 

“Rise and shine, patriots, it’s time f- _Holy shit!”_

Steve bolted awake, trying to sit up, only to find that he was weighed down by 200-something pounds of deadly assassin.

Who was, by the looks of it, still unconscious.

Weird. Bucky was normally a light sleeper.

Steve realized then what he looked like: naked, holding an equally naked Bucky, sticky and disgusting with their combined fluids.

“Get out, Tony,” Steve said.

Tony had a hand over his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, and left the house, closing the door shut behind him.

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking Bucky lightly by the shoulder. “Bucky? Hey, Buck?”

No response.

Okay, _now_ Steve was worried.

He slid out from under Bucky, and stood above him, patting lightly at his cheek. “Bucky? Buck, wake up.”

Nothing.

Just to check, he held two fingers to Bucky’s pulse in his throat. The beating was steady, which made some of the tension leave Steve’s shoulders.

“Friday, what’s going on?” Steve asked. “He won’t wake up.”

“Sargent Barnes had a very tiring day, yesterday,” she informed him. “The emotional turmoil mixed with…physical exhaustion…are likely keeping him in a deep sleep. It would be best to let him ‘ride it out,’ so to speak.”

“Alright,” Steve said. “You sure he’s okay?”

“I will monitor his vitals and inform you if there is any deviation from the norm.”

“Thanks, Friday,” Steve said.

Now, for what to do next.

First, Steve retrieved a washrag from the bathroom, wetting it and bringing it to Bucky, wiping him off until all the dry, sticky _gunk_ was gone. He could take a full shower when he woke up.

Then, he scooped him up, carrying him to the bedroom Steve had claimed (telling himself it was because it was closer), and laid him down in the bed, pulling the blanket up around him.

Finally, Steve went to shower himself.

When he was dressed and ready to go see what Tony had wanted, he left Bucky a note by the bed, along with a glass of water, just because he might need it.

He watched Bucky sleep, for a second, before leaving.

Then, on a whim, he leaned down, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

“Love you, Buck,” he whispered, and then headed out.

Under a blanket, having stirred at last at the contact of lips, Bucky opened his eyes, processing what he just heard.

_What the fuck?_

The Avengers were gathered in the house Tony and Bruce had claimed, Friday informed Steve, and when the Captain entered, the whole room _applauded._

“You’re a Godsend, Rogers,” Clint informed him.

Steve hovered in the doorway, unsure what was going on. “Um. Okay?”

“Tony went back to bed,” Bruce explained. “Said it was too early to deal with ‘naked super-soldiers spooning.’”

Steve blushed hard. “We weren’t _spooning.”_

“But you _were_ naked,” Clint said. “You didn’t protest the _naked.”_

Steve sighed. “Did you need something?”

“We were _gonna_ go over how bad the news out of Paris was looking,” Natasha said. “But that ship’s sailed. Where’s Barnes?”

“Sleeping,” Steve said. “He didn’t wanna get up.”

Everyone stared at him. Then, Clint whistled. “You must’ve tore him _up.”_

“W-what?” Steve stuttered.

“The guy sleeps, what, three hours a night?” Clint asked. “On a _good_ day? But he’s having a lay-in.”

“Lie-in,” Natasha corrected. “It’s lie-in.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Clint replied. “What matters is that Captain America is, officially, a _beast.”_

Steve shook his head. “You’re all jerks. What’s for breakfast?”

 

 

 

_Buck –_

_You were pretty unresponsive when I tried to wake you up, and Friday said you were probably just worn out from yesterday. Sleep in as much as you want, I’ll be at Tony’s when you’re ready._

_P.S., SHOWER! I washed you up some, but you’re gonna smell like sex for like a week._

There was a weird black scribble, and then a simple “ _– Steve.”_

Bucky probably would have smiled at the note, on a better day. Right now, he just felt…confused.

The day before had been a mess, and in 24 hours, Steve had somehow gone from ‘ _how dare you hypothetically fuck someone else’_ to whispering love confessions.

Maybe sex made Steve sappy.

Maybe…

…Maybe Steve yelled because he _was_ jealous. Maybe Bucky’s theory was wrong.

Feeling oddly light, Bucky climbed out of bed, and hopped into the shower.

 _Maybe this,_ Bucky thought to himself. _Maybe_ this _is what it’s like to be loved._

Bucky took his time getting ready, even going so far as to _pick out_ an outfit from the clothes Tony had them brought, rather than just grabbing something at random.

He chose one of his softest shirts, covered in abstract patterns, because he felt like being comfortable, and a pair of stone-washed jeans, because they were _also_ soft.

Feeling good with the gentle fabrics surrounding him, he pulled on his boots, took only _two_ knives, and headed out without so much as a jacket.

Who did he need to hide his arm from, _here_ , after all?

Everyone was laughing and joking with each other when he stepped into Tony and Bruce’s beach house, until Clint caught sight of him, letting out a cheer. “Let’s hear it for Sleeping Beauty!”

Normally, such a thing could warrant one of two reactions: a glare on a bad day or a blush on a good one. Today, Bucky just beamed back.

Clint looked _monumentally_ uncomfortable, all of the sudden.

“Well, someone’s happy,” Natasha said. “Ready to ruin that good mood?”

Bucky’s grin fell, as she called out to Friday, and screens popped up displaying scenes of horror from Paris.

He forced himself to watch the footage, no matter how badly he wanted to turn and run.

 _Face your demons, Bucky,_ he told himself. _This is what you are, really._

He let out a slow breath. _Steve loves me,_ he thought. _I can get through this, because he_ loves _me._

But Bucky’s inner voice, that sickening sound that lingered from Hydra’s conditioning, whispered back, _He loves the_ old _you. This you? It’s_ nothing _to him._

Bucky’s eyes slid to Steve, even though he didn’t want to see how the man was reacting. He was staring at the screens seriously, looking resigned.

Not angry, not even sad. _Resigned._

This wasn’t a mistake, to him, was it? Bucky clenched his fists, and looked around the table. Everyone was wearing the same expression.

To them, this was _predictable._

They had been _waiting_ for this to happen.

The soft, comforting clothes suddenly felt confining, and Bucky wished he had more blades pressing against him than just two, so that he’d have _something_ making him feel safe.

“Bucky?” Steve called. “Bucky, you’re hyperventilating. Nat, shut the footage off.”

Natasha went to shut the screens off.

“No!” Bucky called, and she froze in mid-motion. “Leave them on. Let me see. I _need_ to see this.”

“You tried to _help_ , buddy, and it went wrong,” Steve said. “No sense-…”

“There’s _every_ sense in doing this,” Bucky insisted. “I disobeyed an order and these are the consequences. I put you all at risk, I put myself at risk, I _destroyed a city._ ”  

“Most of Paris is _fine_ , Barnes,” Clint pointed out. “It’s just the area around the park that got fucked up.”

“Clint, not helping,” Steve said.

Bucky was slipping. He could _feel_ himself losing control. “I need-…I need _out.”_

“What?” Steve asked. “Out of where? Here? Step out, no one will mind.”

“Off the island, away from people,” Bucky said. “I need _air,_ and _space.”_

Bruce, luckily, seemed to catch on. “It’s like a Code Green,” he told the others. “He thinks he’s gonna lose it.”

Bucky’s hands went to his hair, tangling up there, and he tugged down at the strands in an attempt to hurt himself, to do _something_ to stay grounded.

_Friction, a chest pressed to his, a warm room and a warmer body, hands in his hair-…_

Bucky froze.

_Steve loves me. Steve loves me, Steve loves me, Steve loves me._

_He **shouldn’t.**_

“Barnes?” Natasha called. “Barnes, you with us?”

Steve watched as Bucky slowly straightened, before replying in quiet Russian.

“Ready to comply,” Clint translated. “We’ve lost him.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a short one

Natasha immediately took to speaking to Bucky in Russian, trying to talk him back around, like she did at the police station.

It had taken ages, then, but it had happened, so they hoped it would work.

Unfortunately, _three hours_ into the ‘conversation’ – in which Bucky barely said a word – Natasha gave up.

“This isn’t helping,” she said. “I think I’m pushing him deeper into it.”

Clint took over, speaking in Russian as well, but not in the clipped, militant tone Natasha used. Instead, it was his normal voice, including inflictions and such that suggested he was joking around.

Still, nothing.

“Alright,” Clint admitted. “Not helping. Steve, you’re up.”

Steve got up and started walking toward his friend (boyfriend? Fiancé?) when Natasha caught his arm.

“Don’t touch him,” she warned. “We don’t know how he’ll respond to touch.”

Steve nodded, then stood in front of Bucky, staring into the man’s glassy, distant eyes. “Bucky, can you hear me?”

Bruce left the room behind Steve, heading upstairs, quietly telling them, “I’m gonna get Tony.”

Steve quickly ended up throwing Natasha’s advice out, and took Bucky’s hand. “Buck, it’s Steve. I need you to come back to me, okay? You’re out of Hydra. You’re _free.”_

“Primary objective,” Bucky murmured in English. “Freedom of humanity. Achieved?”

“And you’ve confused him,” Clint sighed. “Nice work, Rogers.”

“Step aside, amateurs,” Tony called, coming down the stairs. “You are acting like he’s been mind-controlled, no wonder you’re fucking up.”  
“He _was_ mind-controlled,” Steve pointed out.

“No, he was _brainwashed._ Much different. And this? This is _dissociating._ He’s removed himself from the situation, because he doesn’t feel safe.” And then Tony was kneeling on the ground, reaching his hand into Bucky’s boot.

“What are you-…?”  
“Got it,” Tony declared, and stood up holding a knife.

“Tony, what the hell are you…?”  
Tony took the handle of the knife and pressed it into Bucky’s hand.

“You’re giving him a _weapon?”_ Natasha cried out. “Are you _insane?”_

But Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t even take the knife.

“Feel that, big guy?” Tony said. “That’s _yours._ You can take it, if you want.”  
Slowly, Bucky’s hand wrapped around it, and he echoed, “Mine?”

“Yep, it’s yours. And if you ever don’t feel safe, here, remember you’ve got that looking out for you. Not to mention all of us.” He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hydra’s in hiding, but when they come out, we’re gonna kick their asses. Same with whatever’s left of Loki after that shockwave, and the press after Paris. You’re _safe_ with us, Bucky.”

Bucky murmured something Steve didn’t catch, but Tony clearly did, because he went pale.

“What’d he say?” Steve asked. “What’s going on?”

“Watch him,” Tony told Natasha. “Tell him his name, the date, grounding stuff. Keep his hands busy – not like _that,_ Clint, you know what I mean – to get him out of the episode. And for God’s sake, don’t talk in Russian anymore.”

And then he grabbed Steve and pulled him out of the room.

 

 

“What’s going on?” Steve demanded, as Tony dragged them into Bruce’s room and shut the door.

And _locked it._

“An interrogation,” Tony replied. “Did you tell Bucky you _loved him?”_

Steve froze. “I-…I thought he was asleep.”

Tony groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“What?” Steve said. “Is that…Is that what the episode was about? Not Paris?”

“Oh, no, this was _definitely_ about Paris,” Tony said. “But that didn’t really _help.”_

“What’d he say?” Steve asked again. “Tony, what did Bucky _say?”_

“ _’He shouldn’t love me,’_ ” Tony quoted. “Because if you whisper it while the man’s supposedly _asleep,_ like it’s some big secret, he can’t talk it out with you. Which means that he’s free to misread it any number of ways. God knows what he _thinks_ you meant. Whatever it is, it’s tearing him apart, and you need to set it right the _second_ you can. He has bigger things to worry about then your little melodrama.”

“I don’t get it,” Steve said.

“Steve,” Tony sighed. “Bucky can’t take anything at face value. He’s always looking for an ulterior motive. What do you think he thinks when someone who has previously insisted that they’d only ever love one person – that was _really_ shitty, by the way – says they love you, too? Just out of the blue one morning?”

“That they’d been wrong?” Steve guessed.

“Alright, not what _you_ would think, you’re clearly stupid,” Tony said. “What would _Bucky_ think?”

“That he was being manipulated,” Steve sighed. “He thinks I’m just trying to give him what he wants, doesn’t he?”

“Probably,” Tony agreed. “So, let’s go back out there, and you take your fiancé back to your place and set the record straight. And, for the love of _God,_ have Friday lock the door if you fuck again.”

 

 

 

Bucky blinked back into awareness, taking inventory of himself.

Someone had draped a blanket around his shoulders, which was…nice.

He was holding his knife, though, which made him panic for a second.

“Did I-…?”  
“You didn’t hurt anybody,” Natasha told him, hand on his shoulder, massaging lightly. She probably thought it was comforting, but Bucky _really_ didn’t feel like being touched. “Tony gave you that to try and ground you. You were dissociating pretty hard.”

Bucky made a face. “I wasn’t-…”

“Don’t even,” Tony said, coming into the room, followed by a sheepish looking Steve. “You _were_ dissociating, which is totally fine. You just need to own it. _Hello, I’m Bucky Barnes, and I have severe PTSD.”  
_ “I _don’t.”_

Tony snorted. “Yeah, that’s bullshit, and you know it. Or, at least, you need to learn that it is.”

Bucky couldn’t help but feel Tony had a deeper meaning, there, so he asked after it. “What’s _that_ mean?”

“It _means,”_ Tony said, “That like it or not, the PR people have decided to attribute your jumping into things in Paris as a desperate act of a veteran with severe emotional trauma.”

Bucky shot off the couch, yelling, “I _don’t_ have ‘emotional trauma,’ I have _Hydra_ in my _head.”_

“Which traumatized you,” Tony replied. “Emotionally.”

Bucky let out a frustrated shriek. “This isn’t _funny.”_

“I’m sorry, was I joking?” Tony said. “ _I_ didn’t think I was joking.”

The room fell quiet. Bucky shot Tony his coldest look. “I am not _traumatized,”_ he spat.

“Um, show of hands,” Tony said. “Who thinks Barnes has trauma to work out?”

Clint raised his hand instantly. “Oooh, me, me! I do!”

Natasha shoved him. “Quit being a dick, Clint.” Then, she sighed, asking, “Are we seriously doing this?”

Tony raised his own hand. “ _Yep.”_

Natasha gave another sigh and raised her hand.

“I’m staying out of this,” Bruce muttered. Tony responded by grabbing Bruce’s wrist and pulling it up into the air.

“Nah, you’re with us, you talk about getting Bucky a psychiatrist all the time.”  
“ _Banner,”_ Bucky hissed, betrayed.

Bruce smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Bucky. But…he _does_ have a point.”

Tony released Bruce’s wrist, but the man left his hand up.

In the back of the room, in the little dining area, Wanda raised her hand. Pietro raised his, as well, after his sister nudged him.

Bucky’s stomach sank. The Itch, as he was starting to less-than-affectionately think of it as, returned, buzzing beneath his skin. “You’re all _great_ friends,” he muttered, sarcastically. “Really.”

“Yeah, we _are,”_ Tony said. “Because we care about you, and we want you to be able to trust your own shadow not to jump you.”

“You are in luck, Mister Stark,” Friday’s voice came down. “The matter is no longer in Sargent Barnes’ hands.”

Bucky felt cold. “What does that mean?”

“New conditions have been posed, for the return of _the Winter Soldier_ to a position as an accepted free agent, subtitle: _Avenger.”_

“Those conditions, being…?”

“The United Nations have, as a council, gathered and demanded that Sargent James Buchanan Barnes be assigned a personal psychiatrist, for the treatment of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

Bucky sneered. “And if I refuse?”

“You will be forcibly retired from duty,” Friday replied. “Any further action on your part to assist the Avengers would be deemed the criminal act of a vigilante.”

Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to fight someone, fuck someone, or cry. Those seemed to be his only three states of being, anymore.

He laughed, a harsh and bitter sound, even to him. To Tony, he asked, “You happy now?”

Tony looked…

Yeah, that was _pity._ Bucky wanted to strangle him. “I can’t live if I’m not fighting, but I can’t live with _more_ people picking at my brain, either.”

“Talking it out with someone isn’t a bad thing, Bucky,” Steve said. “I’m sure Sam knows someone good, who could-…”  
“Could _what_?” Bucky shouted. “Tell me it’s all okay? That it’s _normal?_ Because it’s _not,_ Steve. It’s not ‘normal’ to have people _forcibly wipe your memory._ It’s not normal to _miss having them do it,_ because the more you remember, the harder it is to know who you are. It’s not _fucking normal_ to not want to be touched unless you’re fighting or fucking, because you honestly can’t process someone _not_ having an ulterior motive. None of this is _normal,_ and I don’t want it brushed off like it is, okay?”

“No one’s brushing you off,” Tony said. “And they didn’t specify that the person had to be approved, or anything. You can hire and fire psychiatrists all day long until you find one you like.”

“And if I don’t like _any_ of them?”

“Then we throw you a retirement party, and you become Cap’s housewife,” Tony replied. “Simple as that.”

Bucky wanted to throw his knife at Tony.

Instead, he turned around, and left the room.

 

 

“Friday, lock the-…”   
“Captain Rogers is already coming in,” Friday interrupted him. “I can lock it behind him?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed. “Good enough.”

“Bucky,” Steve called. “Buck, Tony was out of line, but he wasn’t _wrong_ , you’ve gotta see that.”

“No, Steve, I _don’t,”_ Bucky said. “But you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him, and fuck the team, and fuck the U.N., and fuck _you.”_

Steve seemed taken aback by that. “What’d I do?”

“You didn’t _stop,”_ Bucky said. “I asked you to stop pushing, to stop trying to get the old Bucky back, but you _wouldn’t._ And now, here I am, being called _crazy_ because I’m not who _you_ claimed I was.”

“That’s not what’s going on here, Buck,” Steve said. “And no one thinks you’re ‘crazy.’ You have a _problem,_ that’s all. You’re falling apart, Bucky, and you need help. Help we can’t give you.”

“You know what I need?” Bucky said. “I need you to fuck me, and I need to go kill some Hydra goons or something. Doesn’t have to be in that order.”

Steve looked about to protest, and Bucky practically growled at him. “Don’t start, Steve. Don’t even _start._ I just told you, I only have a few outlets. Let me _have them.”_

“They’re not _healthy,”_ Steve said. “You can’t punch your way out of everything, and you can’t sleep your way back to being okay.”

“I’m sorry, was I _ever_ ‘okay’?” Bucky said. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else. Someone who, by my account, died in the 40s.”

“Really? Cause I think he’s standing right in front of me, hiding from who he used to be, because he’s scared he won’t live up to his own name.”

“And _I think,”_ Bucky said. “That _you_ just see what you want, because the idea that you might get your best friend back is too good a dream to let go of. My question is, _why_? What the hell was so good about me, that you can’t just _let me die?”_

“Because…Because I _love_ you, you idiot.”

Bucky froze. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes,” Steve replied. “I _do._ I love you, Bucky.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, voice wavering, his body starting to shake. “Just shut up.”

“Bucky, I love you,” Steve repeated. “You’re my best friend in the world, you always have been, and I need you. So, please, _don’t let this beat you.”_

Bucky buried his face into his hands, ashamed of himself when he felt how wet his cheeks were. At some point he must have started crying. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!_

Steve’s arms were wrapping around him, pulling him close.

Bucky felt too weak to push him away, but his body shook even harder. “Leave me _alone,”_ he sobbed. “Just…just let me _go.”_

Lips pressed to the top of his head. “Never,” Steve replied. “It’s you and me, against the world, just like the old days, Buck. I’m with you, to the end of the line.”

 

 

 

Steve held Bucky for a solid minute, before the man shifted in his arms. He expected to be pushed away, but instead, Bucky’s arms slowly snaked around him, returning the hug.

 

 

Bucky didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually, the shaking calmed and the tears stopped and he felt…empty.

Somehow, feeling empty was _worse_ than the Itch, _worse_ than the guilt, _worse_ than the doubt and pain.

But luckily, he knew how to fix _empty._

He tipped his chin up, catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss. He knew he’d be pushed away if he tried to be rough right away – he had to warm Steve up to it. Instead of the harsh kisses from before, therefore, he went for something gentle. _Soft._

_Sickening._

Steve returned the kiss at the same intensity, and Bucky held it, counting in his head. When he reached _30,_ he broke it, taking a heavy breath, as though the kiss had _wooed_ him, or some nonsense.

_Classic seduction techniques, for a classic seduction mission._

Bucky looked up through his eyelashes at Steve, smiling sweetly. “Can we…?”

“Bucky… _no.”_

Bucky’s smile dropped instantly.

The whole façade fell apart.

“Of course not,” Bucky said, voice hollow as the rest of him felt.

“Bucky, I just don’t think it’s a good time,” Steve tried to defend, but Bucky just shook his head.

“No, I get it,” he said. “Really. I do.”

“I don’t think you do,” Steve said. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can promise, it’s wrong. I _want_ to, Bucky, trust me. I just…”

Bucky sighed. “Don’t _what,_ Steve?”  
“I don’t think _you_ really want to.”

Bucky stared at him in disbelief. “Steve, I _always_ want sex. You’ve more or less called me a slut for it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Steve said. “I think you just can’t figure out how to feel good unless it’s physical.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Bucky wasn’t happy about it, though.

“Am I not allowed to feel good unless it’s _emotional_ , now?” Bucky demanded.

“Bucky…”

“Never mind,” Bucky said. “Just…never mind. Fuck it.”

And he turned around, heading upstairs to ‘his’ room, which he still hadn’t even seen the inside of.

He didn’t take the time to look around. He just locked the door, headed to the bed, and flopped down onto it.

 _Maybe a nap,_ he thought. _Better to be asleep than to be alone._

 

 

He couldn’t sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, the empty feeling coming and going, trading places again and again with a sickly feeling he decided to label as _grief._

He wanted it _gone_.

He needed to _fight_ , and to fight, he had to obey orders.

Which forced his hand.

He sighed.

“Friday,” he said. “Pull a list of reputable psychiatrists, willing to relocate to Stark Tower.”

 

 

The Avengers gathered at Bruce and Tony’s the next day again for breakfast, already starting to adapt their Tower routine to the new location.

All conversation ceased instantly when Bucky walked in.

“Amber Sherman,” Bucky announced. “I want Amber Sherman.”

“Friday, some context?” Tony asked, pulling out his StarkPad, opening the file she instantly sent him on the woman. “Oh, you picked a psychiatrist.”

“That’s great, Buck,” Steve said.

“Why her?” Clint asked, peering over Tony’s shoulder to look at her file. “She seems…plain.”

“She’s applied to four positions in New York in the last two years,” Tony pointed out. “Playing fairy godmother? Granting her wish?”

Bucky said nothing, letting him keep reading.

“Oh,” Tony said. “ _Specializes in trauma recovery._ Thirteen years’ experience working alongside the VA in the treatment of veterans.”

“May as well get someone who knows what they’re doing,” Natasha said. “Good choice.”

Bucky shrugged. “Keep reading.”

“I think I’m missing something,” Tony admitted. “Divorced single mother your new fetish? Or is it that she’s, like, 50, so she can relate to you being super fucking old?”

“No, and no,” Bucky said. Finally giving up on them finding it themselves, he snatched up the StarkPad, scrolling to his point and handing it back.

Tony read everything on screen, before humming out in understanding.

“What is it?” Steve asked.

“ _History of successful academic publications,”_ Tony read out. “ _Including essays on multiple personalities, anxiety disorders, addictions, and –_ get this – _the effects of periods amnesia on the brain post-recovery.”_

“So she’s perfect, basically,” Clint said. “Round of applause for Barnes, who did better digging in one night than the PR team’s done in two days.”

“Now, I know you said a week,” Bucky said. “But I’m gonna go crazy for real if we’re here another _hour.”_

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. “We’ll head back to Paris to help with cleanup. Get your shit ready, and give me half an hour.” He waved the StarkPad in the air. “I have some calls to make.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really gay

“So, you picked a psychiatrist.”

“Yep,” Bucky said.  “I figured I needed to, if I ever wanted to get back to doing what I’m good at.”

There was a silence.

“Have you ever heard the song _Somethin’ Stupid_ by Frank Sinatra?” Steve suddenly asked.

Bucky blinked. “It’s not in my playlist Tony made, so, no.”

“Friday, play it, please?”

“Playing track.”

Soft music started, and Steve held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

_I know I stand in line, until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me…_

“Um.”

“C’mon, Bucky,” Steve said. “One dance, while we’ve got a minute.”

Bucky sighed, and took Steve’s offered hand.

He did like dancing.

_And if we go someplace to dance, I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me…_

Bucky let Steve pull him in, and they began to sway lightly, Steve leading them in careful steps around the room.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” Bucky asked.  
“You.”

_And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two…_

“I’m a good teacher, then,” Bucky said. “You’re not bad.”

_And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you.”_

Bucky tensed, missing a step and stumbling forward, but Steve caught him, holding him close.

“You’re terrible,” Bucky muttered.

_I can see it in your eyes, that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before…_

_And though it’s just a line to you, for me it’s true, and never seemed so right before._

Bucky straightened up, but Steve kept him close, still swaying, though his steps stopped.

Bucky let out a long breath, and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, matching the movements.

The song was good, even if it made Bucky’s heart hurt.

_I practice every day to find some clever lines to say, to make the meaning come through_

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said.

“What is it, Steve?”

_But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you_

“We should get married.”

_The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue_

“We’re already _getting_ married, stupid.”

“I meant for real.”

_And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you."_

Bucky stared at Steve in shock. “You…what?”

“I wanna marry you,” Steve repeated. “For real, not because you drunkenly proposed. I want a _real_ marriage to the man I _really_ love.”

_The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue_

“…”

“Say something, Buck.”

_And then I go and spoil it all by sayin' something stupid like "I love you."_

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Okay. Let’s…let’s get married.”

_I love you…_

_I love you…_

They held hands on the way to the jet.

It was nice, weirdly, even though Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of casual physical contact.

They sat next to each other once in the jet, _still_ holding hands, both reluctant to break contact.

“Nice to see you two kissed and made up,” Clint said. “Though, you know, if you two come to blows again, I’m still up to play rebound. Goes for you, too, Cap.”

“I’ll pass,” Steve replied.

Clint shrugged. “Your loss.”

“You’re a homewrecker at heart, Barton,” Tony called from the cockpit. “Let them have their bliss for a few hours. You know they’ll be screaming again when we hit Paris.”

Bucky sunk down into his seat. Were they really _that_ bad?

When nobody came to their defense – not even _Bruce –_ Bucky sunk further.

He’d take that as a _yes._

 

 

 

Tony had a security detail on them from the second they touched down in Paris, that didn’t leave them for the whole three weeks they were in the city.

Those three weeks passed in a blur, as they were always either sleeping, eating quick meals, or helping with the city’s cleanup and rebuilding efforts.

They worked in shifts, so there was always an Avenger on the streets, and Bucky and Steve picked different slots. Which meant that, even though they’d chosen to share a hotel room, they didn’t see each other at all.

For _three_ _weeks_.

Eventually, it was the last day the Avengers had scheduled to work, since all the rubble was about cleared. They’d all planned to head back the next day, and send teams to help with the actual construction (more, have _Tony_ send teams, because the rest of them were technically unemployed).

Which meant that Bucky was working his absolute ass off, trying to get as much accomplished as possible before they had to leave.

“Sargent Barnes, right?” A woman called, while he was sweeping up one of the previously cleared areas to catch the last of the dust and debris.

“Uh,” he considered lying, and saying no, because he didn’t know what she wanted, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“Your arm kind of gives you away.”

Oh, right. Bucky hadn’t been wearing his jacket or gloves, since the labor made him sweat enough as it was. “Can I help you…?”

“I just wanted to say...” Bucky braced himself. “Thank you for coming back to help.”  
Okay, unexpected. “Um. It’s no problem…? Really. Honestly, if I hadn’t come back, I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself.”

“That’s why I’m thanking you,” she said. “The Avengers…they mean well, but I don’t think they really know what they do, sometimes.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve seen them destroy whole cities in the news, and then they just…send people to fix it. They’re good people, sure, but…it takes a special kind of person to get down here, and put their hands into the Earth, and actually _help.”_

Bucky flushed, looking away. “I’m not _special_ , I promise. They were gonna come help, eventually, I just… I didn’t like sitting around doing _nothing_ , when people were hurting because of me.”

When he looked back, she was smiling at him. “You know, the news, today…They said you had a psychiatrist moved into the Avengers Tower.”

Bucky paled. “They _leaked_ that story?”

The woman looked suddenly very apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted that a secret. I just…I think it’s admirable. Getting help.”

Bucky sighed, wondering what she’d think if she knew the truth. That his hand had been forced, and that he’d only done it because he didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t in a fight.

But his thoughts fled when she reached into her shirt, pulling out glinting metal.

 _Dogtags_.

“You’re military,” Bucky observed.  The woman responded with a salute, which Bucky returned on reflex. “Branch?”

“Army,” she said.

“My kind of girl,” Bucky said, cracking his first genuine smile in weeks. “That what you’re doing out here? Got staffed as relief?”

“No,” she said. “I’m _retired_ military. I just volunteered to come, with my church group.”

“That’s admirable,” Bucky said. “A lot better than me – I couldn’t even get into religion or volunteering in the 40s, when _everybody_ was doing it.”

“Isn’t your fiancé Catholic?” she asked.

 _Steve._ Bucky gave a small, happy smile, thinking of the word _fiancé_ again. That was _genuine_ , now, not just a cover-up. “Yeah. Used to be devout about it, but I don’t know about now. I haven’t seen him go to church or anything, or even pray.” He thought about it for a second. “Maybe I should ask.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate the thought,” she said.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. “But my engagement can be improved upon later. We haven’t properly met.” He brushed the dust off his flesh hand, extending it. “Bucky.”

“Anna,” she returned, shaking his hand, and then pointing at the broom. “Want some help?”

Bucky nodded toward the other broom, propped up against a wall. “Knock yourself out.”

 

 

Steve had just finished getting dressed for his shift when Bucky came in with an unfamiliar woman, laughing and chatting, both of them covered in dust and dirt.

“-And I was like, _Clint, that’s not even edible,”_ Bucky was saying. “But he didn’t care! He just popped the whole thing in his mouth.”

The woman laughed harder, asking, “Did he get sick?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky said. “For _days.”_ He looked away from the woman, and into the room, smiling when his eyes landed on Steve. “Hey, Stevie. This is Anna. She’s from-… Shit, where was it? Just outside D.C.”

“Frederick _,”_ Anna filled in. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Rogers. Sorry to barge in, but I dragged your fiancé away from the rubble for some food.”

“Please, just Steve,” Steve replied, reaching out to shake her hand. “It seems I owe you my thanks.”

Anna’s eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t follow.”

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other since we got here,” Bucky explained. “We took different shifts. I’m gone when he wakes up, and vice-versa.”

Anna gasped. “That’s _awful._ You’ve been here for, what, two weeks?”

“Three,” Bucky and Steve said at the same time.

“You two should spend some time together,” Anna said. “I’ll head back down and get some food in the hotel restaurant.”

“No, please,” Steve said. “We can all three eat together.”

“Honestly, it’s fine,” Anna said. “Bucky probably needs to shower, anyway.”

Bucky laughed. “You sayin’ I smell?”

“I’m not close enough to smell you,” Anna replied. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I think I’ve been insulted,” Bucky said.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Seriously, catch up. You’re _engaged_ , and three weeks is a long time to be split up. I’ll go grab some food, and you guys can meet me back out in the clean-up later, okay?”

And then she waved, and left the room.

Bucky shifted, letting the silence set for a second, before breaking it. “I told the head of my section I was going to lunch, and he said I could have, like, two hours. And that’s just until I’m missed. He basically said to take as long as I wanted.”

“That’s generous,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well, I may have…not taken a lunch, at all, for a while.”

Steve stared at him. “Bucky. How long is ‘a while’?”

“Uh...Three weeks?”

Steve groaned. “Bucky, you _know_ you need to eat.”

“I eat breakfast!” Bucky protested. “Every…couple days, or so.”

“ _Bucky.”_

Bucky pursed his lips. “I didn’t wanna stop working,” he admitted.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve breathed, stepping forward to pull Bucky into a hug.

They hugged for a second, before Steve pulled back, kissing Bucky’s forehead. “You’re doing great work, here, but you’ve gotta take care of yourself.”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky sighed. “I’m just…not good at that.”

“Do me a favor, and do something for yourself today,” Steve said.

Bucky paused, then grinned up at Steve, looking him over with mischievous eyes.

Steve caught the gist.

“You said two hours?”

 

 

_“Fuck!”_

Steve had Bucky pressed to the wall, fucking him _mercilessly_. “Friday,” Steve groaned out. “What’s our time?”

“You’ve been engaging in intercourse for thirty-seven minutes.”

“That’s too fucking long to haven’t cum yet,” Bucky told him. “ _Please,_ Steve, I’m dying here.”

“We have two hours. We’re making the most of it.”

“You’re a cocktease,” Bucky said. “ _Jesus Christ alive.”_

Steve took pity on him at last, reaching around and starting to stroke his cock in time with each roll of his hips.

Bucky shook, the stimulation overwhelming his senses. “Oh, fuck, _Steve._ Fuck me.”  
“Thought I was,” Steve joked, then latched onto the edge of Bucky’s neck and sucked in a red mark.

“You’re-… _ah_ …so funny, Steve, really. I’m – _shit –_ I’m laughing so hard.” 

“Oh, that how you wanna play it, huh?” Steve said. “Friday, put five more minutes on countdown.”

Bucky groaned in response.

 

 

After an hour and half, and four – _four –_ separate orgasms, Steve laid down on the hotel floor, Bucky draped across his chest.

“You seem to like laying there,” Steve pointed out, combing his hand through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky patted one of Steve’s pecs in response. “Your tits make good pillows.”

Steve snorted. “Friday, we’ve got another half hour, yeah?”

“Correct, Captain.”

“Order us room service?”

“Certainly.” A beat. “Might I suggest _clothing_?”

Bucky laughed into Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, Steve. Nobody else gets to see your dick but me.”

“Oh?” Steve smiled at him. “Calling dibs, huh?”

“Only fair,” Bucky said. “You _are_ gonna be my husband, after all.”

The two grinned at each other.

“Hey, Friday,” Steve said. “Can you start a daily update, for me? Wake me up with a day counter. The days until August 10.”

“Understood. Processing.”

“Starting now, please.”

“42 days until your wedding, sir.”

Steve blinked. “It’s already almost July?”

“Your birthday is in…” Bucky tried to run the numbers.

“Five days,” Friday filled in. “It’s June 29, currently.”

“Thanks, Friday,” he said. To Steve, he said, “We should plan something, back at the tower.”

“We can worry about that later,” Steve said. “Let’s get dressed, for now.”

 

 

They put on clean working clothes, t-shirts and jeans, and sat on the floor eating the food room service had brought up. Friday had basically ordered one of everything, so they had a _ton_ of food, which suited Steve just fine. 

They entered a very domestic type of pattern, where Bucky would pick a food, take one bite, and rate it, before handing it to Steve to finish off.

Bucky had just declared the pasta a “solid six” when Friday interrupted, telling them, “Sirs, Mister Stark has initiated a group call.”

“Pick it up,” Bucky said, passing the noodles to Steve and scooping up some sort of orange-ish chicken.

As he popped a piece into his mouth, he moaned at the taste, pleased…just in time for Tony’s call to click on.

“Okay, whoa, I don’t want a visual for that noise.”

“I’m _eating,”_ Bucky told him. “We finished fucking, like, ten minutes ago.”

“I was gonna make a joke, but you kept talking and ruined it,” Clint said. “It was gonna be good, too.”

“Are your jokes _ever_ good?” Natasha asked.

“We should make this a video call, just to confirm the Super Husbands aren’t naked,” Tony said. “In fact, I’m doing it. Friday, give me visuals.”

Screens appeared before Steve and Bucky, showing the faces of all their teammates. A few – Wanda, Natasha, and Bruce – looked like they’d been woken up by the call. The rest were in various states. Tony, for instance, looked _disgusting,_ suggesting he’d just finished working, while Pietro had wet hair and was shirtless, meaning he was probably about to turn in for some sleep.

“Okay,” Tony said, looking at them all. “We _really_ need to get synced back up. Do you know how hard it is to catch you all awake like this?”

“Did you really try?” Natasha asked. “Please start groveling, regardless of the answer, or you’re gonna face serious consequences for waking me up after _two hours_ of sleep.”

“You got two?” Wanda yawned. “I think I was asleep for just a few minutes.”

“Well, considering it’s you and your brother I’m calling about…”

Pietro and Wanda both straightened up instantly. “What about us?” Pietro asked.

“Immigration is blocking our re-entry into the States tomorrow,” Tony said. “Neither of you have a visa, so you’re being considered illegal aliens. They have orders to apprehend you at the airport if seen.”

Wanda frowned. “Let them _try.”_

“Whoa, kid, _no,”_ Bucky told her. “No fighting the police. This is bullshit, but it’s _fixable_ bullshit. Just stay calm, and we’ll get your paperwork sorted.” To Tony, he asked, “I guess we’re staying a few more days?”

“It shouldn’t take more than a week. I have friends in high places.”

“More like you know who can be bought,” Natasha quipped.

“Same thing.”

“Not really.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, looking to Steve. “How do you feel about a birthday in Paris?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said. “It _is_ almost your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Ninety-six in less than a week,” Tony said. “How’s it feel?”

“Wait a second,” Clint said. “When is your birthday?”

Steve blushed. “Don’t make fun of me, but… July 4.”

Clint started laughing. “Oh, my _God._ Captain America: born on Independence Day. What a _riot._ You can’t even…You can’t make this stuff up.”

“Okay, this call is officially the Party Planning Hotline,” Tony declared. “Everyone not in the mood to plan a stellar 96th birthday bash, hang up.”

Natasha looked conflicted, but ended up not hanging up. Nobody else seemed to even consider it.

“Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking…”

 

 

“No fireworks,” Steve said.

“But it’s the Fourth!” Clint protested. “You _have_ to have fireworks.”  
“Uh,” Tony said. “I’m with Cap, here. Fireworks sound like a bad idea.”

“What?” Clint said. “My kids love ‘em, we do them every year.”

“Because neither you, your wife, nor any of your kids have _severe PTSD.”  
_ Silence.

“Oh,” Clint said. “Oh, _shit,_ sorry.”

“If you wanna go home and party with your kids, be my guest,” Tony said. “You should probably visit them anyway. But, for this party? We’re laying off things that explode. Or make vaguely explode-y noises.”

“That’s a good point,” Steve said. “You guys _should_ be able to celebrate the Fourth how you want. Let’s do this party on the third, instead.”

“But then you’ll do something lame on your actual birthday,” Tony whined. “I know you, you’re too boring to be trusted with your own birthday.”

“So trust it to me,” Bucky said. “I have no plans on the Fourth – I never do. That day’s been Steve’s since I was ten. I’ll make sure he enjoys the day.”

A pause, and then, “Yeah, alright. I’m tagging you in, Barnes – don’t screw it up.”

“When do I ever?” Bucky asked, then remembered exactly _why_ they were in Paris. “Don’t answer that.”

The team laughed, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sound, especially when it was paired with Steve taking his hand.

It was weird, because for a while, there, Bucky thought he’d forgotten how to be happy.

Now, sitting in his hotel, discussing plans for his fiancé’s birthday party with his (rather large) group of friends, he wondered how he ever worried.

 

 

The evening shift of rubble-clearers retired early, that night, so that the Avengers could all sleep through the night and wake up together the next day for _regular_ activities – which, so far, consisted of a tour of the city that Wanda _insisted_ they take, and nothing else.

That meant, of course, that for the second time both in one day and in three weeks, Steve and Bucky would be in their hotel room at the same time.

Because they’d staggered shifts, they’d chosen a room with one bed, with one of them usually falling into it just as the other crawled out.

That night, though, Steve came in, and Bucky woke up from his light sleep, sitting up in the bed.

“Steve, hey,” he murmured. “You’re back.” He moved to get up, before remembering that he didn’t have the next shift, because there _was_ no next shift. “Oh, good, I get to keep sleeping,” he breathed out, laying back down. “That’s nice.”

“You must be really tired,” Steve said, undressing, tossing his dirty clothes into their little ‘laundry’ pile. “I’m gonna take a shower, and then I’ll come join you, okay?”

“ _I_ could join _you,”_ Bucky suggested, to which Steve laughed quietly.

“I think you’re a little too sleepy for that,” Steve said, but nodded toward the bathroom. “You’re welcome to help me wash up, though.”

Bucky crawled out of the bed, shucking his clothes, and heading after Steve to the shower.

 

 

Steve massaged shampoo into Bucky’s hair, saying, “You know, at first it worried me that you left your hair long, but I think it’s grown on me. I actually _really_ like it this way.”

“Cause you like having your hands in it,” Bucky pointed out, leaning into the touch. “Which is totally good with me, because I like _having_ your hands in it.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s jaw to punctuate his sentence, making the Captain smile.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s forehead, blocking water from going in his face, while he tipped the man’s head back to rinse his hair.

“Mm, yes, pamper me,” Bucky sighed out. “Shower me with affection.”

“Pun intended?”

“Always.”

Steve leaned forward and started peppering Bucky’s face with tiny, soft kisses, making the man laugh. “What’re you doin’?”

“Showering you with affection,” Steve replied.

“Oh, am I in charge, now?” Bucky teased. He tipped his chin up. “Kiss me, then, _Captain.”_

Steve looped an arm around Bucky’s waist, dragging the man up to him, and sealing their lips together for a long, sweet kiss, before pulling back. “Not a Captain, right now,” Steve told him. “Just a man in love.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, declaring, “You’re a _sap_ ,” and dragged Steve back down for another kiss.

He had to admit, though, the idea was appealing.

Just the two of them, here in the water, away from rank and order. Away from loss, and pain, and suffering, and their own mistakes.

Here, they were just two men in love.

Suddenly, Bucky never wanted to leave.  


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky must really like the way his feet taste, because he keeps putting his foot in his mouth.

Bucky was starting to realize that when people said _all good things must end_ , it came from pure truth.

Eventually, he and Steve had to get out of the shower, and while Steve dressed himself for sleep, Bucky just flopped into the bed naked and passed out as he was.

Which – because he couldn’t catch a _fucking break –_ ended up launching him into a nightmare.

 

 

Blood painted the floor, but the look of it had nothing on the _smell_. Copper and death, the latter so strong it made even Bucky – who’d lived in perpetual exposure to such stenches for seventy years – nauseous.

Bodies were still nearby, then.

Against his better judgement, he lightly stepped around the blood puddles, tracking it to the source.

He traced it to a door in the end of the…room? Hall? He’d not taken stock of where he was. He didn’t take the time to, now, just opened the door.

Inside, sat…

_Him._

No, not him. This Bucky had his face, but shorter hair and a more youthful look and, not to mention, two _flesh_ arms.

This was the _old_ Bucky.

The old Bucky slid open eyes with no pupils or irises, just blank white orbs. “You killed me.”

It was cold, and distant – a simple fact. “I didn’t mean to,” Bucky – no, the _Soldier –_ replied. “You interfered with my primary objective. All distractions had to be eliminated.”

“And now, what will you do?” The other Bucky looked somehow serene and accusing at the same time. “I was the part of you with love to give. Now, you are empty. How will you love him?”

“I…I don’t know,” the Soldier admitted. “But I have to try.”

“You will fail.”

“I do that a lot, now,” the Soldier replied. “But I won’t fail _him._ Not if I can help it.”

“And if you can’t?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

The ‘dead’ Bucky’s white eyes started to fade to a deep red. “He will be the death of you. I will be your downfall. You _killed_ me, and I will get revenge for that.”

The Soldier narrowed his eyes at the phantom Bucky. “Yeah, well. Come and get me. I’m not afraid to die.”

“Of course not,” the demon with his face replied. “At this point, you’d welcome it. Better you be gone, then to hurt _him,_ anyway.”

The Soldier wished he had a weapon to threaten this phantom with. “You don’t touch him,” he practically growled. “Steve doesn’t deserve to be hurt because of us.”

“Then you know what to do,” the phantom replied. “There’s only one way you can protect him. You want to end all threats to him…but one is in his bed, right now, and you’re not doing a thing to stop it. Because you’re _selfish._ You want him to be safe, but not as much as you want to avoid being alone.” The demon gave a cold, pointy-toothed smile. “You could have both, though.”

“No,” the Soldier protested, but the phantom continued.  
“You could have both…if you gave up.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You said you weren’t afraid to die…so _prove it.”_

 

 

 

Bucky woke while it was still dark. “Friday,” he whispered. “What time is it?”

“Approximately 4:30am.”

  _Good enough._

Bucky climbed out of bed, and slipped on some boxers and a pair of jeans and one of Steve’s t-shirts that hung off his shoulder slightly.

He didn’t bother with shoes – all the Avengers were on the same floor, so he was only walking down the hall.

Next to him and Steve was Bruce’s room, then Tony’s, but Bucky walked past both those doors, stopping in front of the third, and knocking gently on the door.

No answer.

He knocked a little louder, still careful to control the volume. He didn’t want anyone in another room hearing him.

Still, though, there was no response.

“Friday, you in the hall, too?”

“Affirmative, Sargent Barnes.”

“Ping Nat, please.”

Bucky counted seconds in his head. He reached 84 before the door opened, and he expected a half-dressed and irritated looking Natasha.

Instead, he got a half-dressed and irritated looking…

“Bruce?”

Banner flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Natasha needed me for something, but she’s in the shower, so…”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said. “Sure.”

Bruce shifted. “What did you need?”

“I’ll come back later.”

Bucky turned to leave, but Bruce caught his arm. “You look like shit,” Bruce told him, unapologetically. “Come in, and tell me what happened.”

Bucky sighed, and relented, following Bruce into the hotel room.

They sat on Natasha’s bed, and he took a deep breath, and started to recap his dream.

 

 

“I think you should tell Tony to fly out your psychiatrist,” Bruce told him, at the end. “Because it sounds like you’re starting to really spiral, and if you _act_ on what your inner demons are saying, we could lose you.”

“I’m not gonna act on it,” Bucky said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re not worried about acting on it, but you sought Natasha out for help, anyway?”

“For a distraction,” Bucky clarified. “For advice, too, but mostly a distraction.”

Bruce looked confused. “…I thought you two weren’t doing _that_ anymore.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “There was never any formal agreement that it wouldn’t happen again,” he said. Upon seeing Bruce’s dark expression, he backpedaled quickly. “Not between me and _Natasha,_ anyway, but Steve basically said to knock it the fuck off…so, yeah. Not happening, these days. I just wanted to _talk_ , is all.”

“Oh,” Bruce said. “I- I’m sorry for assuming.”

Bucky shrugged. “Most people do. I’ve got a reputation for being a massive-…”

“No, you don’t,” Bruce said, cutting him off before he could say anything derogatory. “And even if you _did_ , it would be justified. We all have our coping skills, and you’re allowed to…um…enjoy yourself.”

“Who’s enjoying themselves?” Natasha asked, stepping out of the bathroom, and Bruce turned red.

Bucky wondered why, for a second, before turning to see Natasha was not, in fact, dressed.

She had a towel wrapped around her waist, but left her chest exposed, as though it didn’t even occur to her that such a thing was still considered _nudity._

“Put a shirt on, Nat,” Bucky told her. “I’m not here to look at you naked.”

“Well, that’s good,” she said. “Because I think our boyfriends would be a little mad, otherwise.”

“Boyfriend _s_?” Bucky said. “No way! You guys got together?”

Natasha shrugged and headed over to her suitcase, pulling out underwear and dropping her towel to dress. “Banner isn’t about _casual_ , and I wasn’t exactly objecting at the time.”

A beat.

“Do you object now…?” Bruce asked, sounding dejected.  
Natasha threw her towel at him. “I’m _joking,_ Christ. For a genius, you can be a real moron.”

“I feel like this is gonna get gross fast, so I’m out,” Bucky said.

“Go cuddle your own man,” Natasha replied, and then tossed the bra she was holding back into her suitcase, announcing, “That means I don’t need _this,_ so I’m happy.”

Bucky fled.

 

 

Steve was awake when Bucky came back into the room.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted. “Where were you?”

“Nat’s,” Bucky replied. “But I had to leave, because I’m pretty sure Banner wasn’t gonna be down for a three-way.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do I _want_ context to that?”

“Nope,” Bucky replied, kicking off his jeans and crawling into bed next to his fiancé. “Just go with it.”

Steve turned to face Bucky, winding his arms around him. Bucky responded by burying his face in Steve’s shoulder. “For the record, _I_ would _also_ object to a three-way.”

“ _Lame_ ,” Bucky replied. “There go my plans for your birthday.”

 Steve snorted, and kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “You’re weird.”

“You love me.”  
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah, I do.”

 

 

 

Bucky woke the next morning to Tony’s voice shouting, “Rise and shine, sweetums!”

Bucky didn’t even look, just chucked a pillow in the direction of Tony’s voice.

It _whooshed_ through the air, bounced off the wall, and flopped uselessly to the ground.

Bucky cracked an eye open, looking, to see that Tony was just a face on a projected screen…as were _all_ the Avengers.

Including _Parker,_ who’d apparently been given a StarkPad at some point.

“Creeps,” Bucky said. “Quit watching us sleep.”

“Speaking of which, wake Cap, will you?” Tony said. “We’re having a crisis.”

“ _Parker_ is having a crisis, you mean,” Clint cut in.

“Peter is having a crisis,” Tony corrected. “And I need someone calm and rational to intervene and explain that, yes, $2,000 a month is reasonable starting pay.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Tony, you have more money than the Wakandan government. If the kid wants more, just pay it to him.”

“It’s not that at all!” Peter said. “It’s _too much!”_

Bucky sat up in bed, then, staring at the teen in disbelief. “Kid. Just take the money, honestly. Who protests _money_?”

“You don’t get it, I’m a part-time intern!” Peter said. “I can’t make more than Aunt May does at a full-time job! That’s ridiculous!”

“Not if you work for Stark,” Bucky replied. “No one’s gonna question a big paycheck. Honestly, he’s probably paying you as low an amount as he can get away with.”

“That’s kind of true, actually,” Tony said. “I took the Avenger base pay and cut it in half. And then in half again. A few times, really.”

“We get paid that much?” Clint asked. “News to me.”

“What do you think those cards I gave you pull from, morons?” Tony asked. “You guys have bank accounts to make world leaders jealous.”

Bucky suddenly understood Peter’s discomfort, because the idea of that much money made him _very_ uneasy. “Uh,” he said. “Can I opt out of future payments? Free housing and food is enough for me.”

“Same,” Clint said. “You make me too much tech for me to take money, too.”

“I’m also not a big fan of this,” Bruce said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re all _idiots,_ honestly. It’s money. Just take it. It comes in handy, I promise.”

Bucky needed back-up, so he shook Steve’s shoulder. “Babe, wake up.”

Steve shifted, eyes sliding open, quickly taking inventory of all the faces in the room and sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, Bucky just called you _babe,_ that’s what’s up,” Tony said. “Seriously, is that how you guys are gonna be, now? Because I might throw up.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Bucky said. Then, to Steve – “Did you know Tony’s been paying us? Like, a _lot?”_

“Uh,” Steve said. “…Yes?”

Everyone stared at him.

“ _Seriously?_ And you’re totally cool with that?” Clint asked. “I thought you’d be the most against it, really.”

“Why?” Steve said. “Tony likes to throw money at things. It’s a coping skill. I just take a few hundred off of each check for personal stuff and emergencies and build the rest into anonymous charity funds.”

There was a long silence.

“Shit, that’s actually a good idea,” Clint said. “I didn’t even think about _donating_ it. Tony, you cool if I-…”

“Your money,” Tony said. “Do what you want with it. Once I finalize the checks, I don’t get a say.” Upon seemingly realizing that was a stupid answer, he added, “And if I _did_ get a say, I’d support donating, 100%. The Maria Stark Foundation was one of the best things I ever set up. You guys should start your own things.” Tony then looked seriously into his camera. “Except you, Parker – _you_ need to take care of your Aunt, and then treat yourself. Buy a new camera, or something.”

Peter blushed heavily in his screen, but gave a small nod. “Yes, sir. But I’d still like to do _something_ special with any left over.”

“College fund,” Bucky said immediately. “For _yourself,_ not someone else, to be clear. Also, for fuck’s sake, get a suit tailored, for Stark’s parties.”

“Okay, Barnes, calm down with the Dad-mode,” Clint said. “But for real, I second the suit thing. No offense, but your last one looked like it was meant for a funeral.”

“…It _was_.”

“Oh, my _God,”_ Tony groaned. “You can’t re-use funeral suits for _parties,_ Peter. We’re getting you an event wardrobe straightened out. _Immediately_.”

“Are we done with this?” Wanda said. “Because I was promised a tour of Paris.”

“That you were,” Tony confirmed. “Peter, we’re gonna go, now, before we get a bitchy witchy on our tail.”

“Take pictures for me!” Peter called, which Bucky agreed to do as they all hung up.

“C’mon, _babe,”_ Steve teased. “Let’s get ready to explore the city.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m not gonna live that one down, am I?”  
“Now you know how I felt about ‘ _language.’”_

 

 

 

“This was a terrible idea,” Bucky whined, about an hour into the tour. “Who agreed to this?”

“We _all_ did, which includes _you,”_ Tony pointed out. “It was a unanimous decision.”

“Yeah, but we’re all _stupid,”_ Bucky pointed out. “ _Especially_ me.”

Steve threaded his fingers through Bucky’s, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. “You’re _fine,_ honestly. What’s so bad about this?”

“What’s so-...Steve, we’re in Paris, in _July._ It’s still _summer.”_

“…So?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, not following, Barnes,” Clint agreed.

“It’s. Fucking. _Hot!”_

Everyone burst out laughing. “Only to _you,_ Mr. Leather Jacket,” Natasha said.

Irritated, Bucky pulled off his left glove, and pressed his metal hand to Nat’s neck. Instantly, she cried out, backing away and holding her own hand to mildly burned skin. “What the _fuck,_ Barnes?!”

“I’m not bitching for nothing!” Bucky said, pulling his glove back on. “Until I get Tony’s upgrade installed, this thing’s not temperature-controlled. It gets _hot._ It’s literally _burning my shoulder.”_

Steve looked instantly concerned. “Do you wanna go back to the hotel? We can let them tour without us…”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not- I just want to _bitch,_ okay? I don’t actually wanna do anything about it.”  
“That doesn’t make sense,” Clint said. “Why not just take the jacket off? It’s not like we’re incognito, here. Vision kind of ruins that.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Vision said automatically. “If you would prefer-…”

“You’re staying,” Wanda told him.

“…I retract my offer.”

Clint made a quiet “Fwsh-CRACK” sound, imitating a whip, and while Wanda turned as red as her magic, he turned to Bucky. “Seriously, man. Ditch the leather, for like, three hours. You won’t die, promise.”

So Bucky shrugged out of the jacket and pulled off his gloves, tying the former around his waist and tucking the latter into his pockets.

“Nice shirt,” Natasha said. “Tony?”

“Tony,” Bucky confirmed. “Where else do I get clothes from?”

“My closet, typically,” Steve said, which set the laughter off again.

Bucky’s shirt that Natasha had called to attention was a bright purplish-pink – “raspberry,” as Tony had described it, the absolute _diva –_ tank top, which declared him in large, bold text: “PRETTY BOY.”

With Bucky’s arms showing, his hair in a ponytail, and giving a pretty epic pout at the heat, Steve had to admit, it fit.

“You’re so violently queer,” Clint said. “I love it.”

Steve was going to crack a joke, or flirt, but was distracted instantly when he caught sight of Bucky’s shoulder under the strap of the tank. “Holy _shit,_ Buck.”

“Langu-…age…Oh, my _God,_ you weren’t kidding about burning,” Tony said, following Steve’s line of sight. The shoulder was vibrant red, and was blistering slightly at the parts where the metal connected.

Soon, all of the Avengers were gasping out similar statements of “Christ, Bucky, _really,”_ and crowding around.

Bucky waved them all off. “It’s fine! It’ll heal in, like, an hour. I’ll be okay. They’re maybe second degree, max.”

“Second degree- _Bucky,_ you need to get that _fixed,”_ Bruce insisted. “When can you upgrade to Tony’s replacement?”  
“That’s…a good question,” Bucky said. “Tony?”

“I know where the files I need are,” Tony said. “We just need to raid a couple Hydra bases to pick them up.”

“They’re not in the data hub?” Bucky asked. A few of their friends asked, _“What data hub?”_ but Bucky and Tony just ignored them.

“Nah, they kept a lot of medical stuff off the web, I guess. All treatment records are just…missing.” Tony shrugged. “If we want stuff on how that shoulder works, we’ll need to get it the old fashioned way.”

“Well then, we’ll do that as soon as we get back,” Steve said. “But for now, let’s enjoy Paris, huh?”

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky insisted. “And someone buy me sunglasses, it’s too fucking _bright_.”

“Such a baby, Barnes, _really_.”

 

 

 

They found an ice cream place, and more-or-less raided it, while Tony wandered a few shops down and returned with a small bag.

He tossed it to Bucky, where the man was sipping a strawberry milkshake. “Merry Christmas.”

The sunglasses inside were welcomed, sure, but they were also _heavily_ bedazzled. Only the lenses managed to escape the glittery gems.

The Avengers all watched carefully, holding in giggles.

Bucky sighed deeply, and pulled them out of the bag, slipping them on. “They have dark lenses,” he announced. “So they’ll do.”

“Did I mention _violently queer_?” Clint said. “Because, seriously. Look at yourself.”

“I am confident in my masculinity,” Bucky replied easily.

“Whatever you say, Barbie-girl,” Tony said. “Let’s talk about how you _and_ Cap ordered the lamest ice cream flavor.”

“Strawberry is _good,”_ Steve defended.

“Chocolate is vastly superior,” Tony said.

“I don’t even like chocolate,” Bucky admitted, pausing when all the Avengers turned to stare at him. “…What?”  
“Who doesn’t like _chocolate?”_ Natasha asked.

“It was always so expensive!” Bucky defended. “I once spent, like, a whole nickel-…”

Clint sniggered.

“Shut _up,_ it was the 20s, that was a lot for a candy bar. Anyways, I bought one, and I took a bite, and it was _awful._ I felt so disappointed. Never bought another one.”

“Hey, I remember that,” Steve said. “You gave the rest of it to me.”

“Yeah, cause you would eat anything,” Bucky said. “Not that that’s changed much.”

“I can’t believe _you_ remember that. It’s such a little memory to have come back.”

Bucky shrugged. “Not from my point of view. You didn’t see your face when I handed it over.”

“Oh, that’s romantic,” Tony said. “And super gross. I may throw up.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and leaned over, kissing Bucky gently. When he tried to pull back, Bucky followed after him, keeping the kiss going.

“Okay, kids, PG-13 only,” Tony warned.

Bucky flipped him off in response.

Suddenly, there was a pressure on his chest, and he was flung – well, not _flung,_ more ‘gently pushed’ – back into his chair.

The red mist dispersed, and Wanda lowered her hands. “Have sex _after_ I see the Eiffel Tower.”

Bucky turned in his seat, looking out the window of the ice cream place, and then pointed. “There it is. The tall thing in the distance. See you in twenty minutes.”

He moved to get out of his seat, and Steve grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“ _Stevie,”_ Bucky whined.  
“Nope.”

Bucky sighed. “Okay, fine. Our honeymoon starts in, like, a month, anyway.”

“Ooh, that reminds me,” Tony said. “Where you guys thinkin’ about going?”

“I dunno,” Steve said. “Haven’t really planned it.”

“I have,” Bucky said.

“Really?” Steve asked him. “Any particular ideas to share?”

“Not really,” Bucky said. “I’ve just been looking at lists of places and crossing off all known Hydra base locations. Don’t really want my sex vacation interrupted.”

“It’s more than a _sex vacation,_ jesus-…”

“Not really?” Bucky said, cutting Steve off. “It’s supposed to get the couple used to living together, but honestly, it’s a sex vacation. Most couples live together _before_ getting married, these days.”

“…Okay, fair point,” Steve said. “But it’s also a romantic getaway. You get to spend time with the person you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with.”

“Ideally,” Bucky said. “ _Ideally_ spend the rest of your life with. Divorce is pretty common, so we can’t just assume people are together forever.”

Steve frowned, and all the Avengers were looking at him like he was an _asshole,_ and Bucky realized how he sounded.  
“Not- not that _we’ll_ break up like that!” He tried to backpedal. “I just…Okay, I’m a cynical dick, okay?” he admitted. “I don’t really believe in, like, romance stuff. Love at first sight, first-love-is-last-love, that kind of thing. I much prefer _this.”_

“What’s _this,_ then?” Steve asked.

Bucky took in his serious, somewhat pissed tone. “Um. Haven’t really…figured that out, yet,” he admitted.

“I suggest you _do.”_

 

 

The rest of the ice cream was finished in awkward silence.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favorite marvel character rolls into this one  
> #RedTeam

Wanda was not easily deterred from her goals, and thus dragged the Avengers to see the Eiffel Tower, despite all the awkward tension.

In the walk over, Bucky fell back from the group, to where Steve was trailing behind. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry for being an ass, back there.”

“It’s fine,” Steve said, which was a _blatant_ lie. Bucky raised an eyebrow, and his fiancé sighed. “Okay, it’s not fine. It upset me that you could be so casually cynical about getting married when we’re less than a month out from our wedding.”

“I’m not cynical about _us_ getting married, just…most people,” he tried to clarify. “I just don’t think enough people think it through.”

“And we’ve thought it through? We didn’t even get _really_ engaged until a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “But I’ve been sort of in love with you for years, so-…”

“You _have?”_

Bucky froze. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh,”_ Steve said. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you didn’t care about me that way.”

Bucky gave Steve a look he hoped communicated exactly how stupid he thought that was. “I agreed to marry you, and you thought I didn’t love you?”

“…When you say it like _that…”_

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve. Let’s try this a _third_ time.” And the he stopped walking, talking Steve’s hands into his own. “Steven Grant Rogers, you’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

“Of course.” Steve beamed at him. “Couldn’t shake me if you wanted to.”

“Good thing I don’t,” Bucky said. “I’m with you-…”

“To the end of the line,” Steve finished.

“And past that,” Bucky tacked on. “If you’re right about God and all, I’m still gonna be loving you in Hell.”

Steve shoved his shoulder. “You know everyone’s staring at us, yeah?”

Bucky took inventory. Sure enough, all the Avengers had stopped when he had, and were watching intently. “Fuck em,” Bucky said, pulling Steve in for a kiss…only to hit a wall of energy.

“ _Wanda_ ,” Steve scolded. “That is an abuse of power.”

“I want to see Paris,” Wanda protested. “Not old men making out.”

“Later,” Bucky promised, and then winked.

Wanda made a disgusted noise, but let him go.

As they resumed their walk, Steve knitted his fingers through Bucky’s, and they walked shoulder-to-shoulder to the most stereotypically romantic spot in the world.

Bucky’s life was just a little bit perfect.

 

 

 

It was late in the evening when they got back to the hotel, and they all gathered in Tony’s room, where attention was turned back to Bucky’s shoulder.

Which, despite what Bucky had assured them, was _not_ healed.

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce said. “You don’t really have a healing factor, just an advanced cell production rate. It’s still got to heal naturally, just a little bit faster than a typical healing cycle. I’d give it a few days.” A pause. “And some burn lotion, or something.”

Tony left the hotel and returned twenty minutes later with a bag of stuff from a nearby pharmacy, including a burn ointment.

Steve tried rubbing it onto his shoulder for him, but Bucky swore and flinched every time his hands made contact, and eventually just took the tube _(“Sorry, Buck.” “Don’t worry about it.”)_ and did it himself.

“Better?” Steve asked him.

Bucky shrugged. “Stings less, definitely.”

Wanda looked slightly guilty. “It hurt the whole time we were out?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, but really, don’t worry about it. If it was bad, I would have come back here, or bought some painkillers or something in a pharmacy on the way. My pain tolerance is pretty good.” Wanda didn’t really look any less sad about it, so he continued. “Really, Wanda. This one’s on me, not you. I’ve never told anyone my arm can get hot like that, so it’s my fault that no one considered it.”

“I should’ve known,” Tony said. “I knew how _cold_ your arm can get.”

“Not really,” Bucky said. “You’ve felt it _cool_. I’ve gotten frostbite on my shoulder, before.”

Everyone stared at him in horror.

“Hydra didn’t really care about my body, so long as it kept working,” Bucky explained. “They just taught me to power through stuff like that. And then they gave me missions in below-freezing temps, and I got _really_ used to it.”

That…really didn’t help.

Bucky sighed, and gave up, turning to Steve. “Hey, doll. I’m kind of tired – wanna go back to our room?”

Tony quietly repeated _“doll”_ and Bucky knew the nicknames were gonna keep biting him in the ass, but Steve agreed and dragged him down the hall to their own room, so it didn’t really matter.

 

 

Bucky managed to talk Steve into fucking him, but they’d barely started making out when Bucky’s traitorous phone let out a loud _PING._

A text. Ignorable, then. He kept kissing Steve.

_PING._

Bucky practically growled into Steve’s mouth, working a hand up the man’s shirt.

_PING. PING._

“You should…ah…you should answer that,” Steve panted out. “Sounds important.”

“If it was urgent, they’d call,” Bucky said.

“Check it anyway.”

So Bucky huffed and pushed away from Steve, grabbing his phone and checking the messages.

Three were from an unknown number, and one was from Matt.

He checked the unknown ones first.

_-hey dude foggy here_

_-got ur # from matt’s phone_

_-i cant reach matt, call him for me???_

“Shit,” Bucky swore, and then checked the text from Matt.

It was a long one, with a lot of nonsense, but he got the gist was that he was trying to use voice-to-text to contact Bucky, but had to be quiet, thus leading to a random assortment of words and the vague message of “SOS.”

He called Foggy, because he got the feeling Matt couldn’t answer.

“Nelson here, _please_ tell me you’ve got Avengers swarming wherever Matt is.”

“I’m actually making out with my fiancé,” Bucky admitted. “…In Paris.”

“Shit,” Foggy swore. “Shit, shit, _shit_. What do we do?”

“I’ll get the Avengers on the group line we’ve got, okay?” Bucky said. “We’ll figure something out, track Matt and get him to safety.”

Steve looked concerned, to Bucky’s side, and Bucky waved him off before he could ask anything, mouthing ‘ _Later.’_

“Okay. Okay, what do _I_ do?” Foggy said. Then, immediately, “Actually, I know what I’m doing. I’m getting his nurse friend Claire on the line and I’m gonna have her on standby because Matt _really_ hates hospitals and he might need stitches or something and _ohmygodhowisthismylife_.”

“Keep calm,” Bucky said. “I’ve got to hang up if I wanna act quickly. Try not to hyperventilate.”

“Gotcha,” Foggy said. “Also, may I just say that your bedside manner? Impeccable. Really, you should’ve been a-…”

Bucky hung up. “Asshole.”

 

 

 

The Avengers kicked into gear pretty quickly when he explained the situation…mostly because there was a pretty good chance that whatever mess Matt was in, it had to do with Loki and the fake Mind Stone.

“I’ll take the jet and head back to New York,” Bucky suggested. “I’ll come back tomorrow night.”

Tony shook his head. “No, no flying back - that would take _hours._ We need someone there who’s already on the ground near the city.”

There was a pause, while they all thought, and then Steve spoke up.

“Not that this is the _best_ idea,” Steve said, carefully. “But…how close is Queens to Hell’s Kitchen?”

 

 

 

Peter was dressed in his new-and-improved Stark Industries _Spiderman_ suit before he’d even hung up the phone with Tony.

Web travel bypassed New York traffic, and thus, allowed him to reach the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen in about fifteen minutes. Once there, he closed his eyes, tugged on his “Spidey-Sense,” and _pushed._

He could feel all sorts of things in the city.

There were lots of small pings – what were probably small-scale robberies or muggings – and a few larger pings that suggested worse (yet still “minor”) crimes. What nearly threw him off the roof, though, was a very large sense of _wrong_ coming from almost the dead center of the city.

 _Found you,_ Peter thought, and started his way toward it. He swung from building to building, moving with purpose, not even paying attention to anything other than the pull on his senses…

Until he dropped onto the roof across from the location he’d tracked this ‘Daredevil’ to, and saw a man in a red suit staring down the scope of a sniper rifle, aimed right at the ping on his senses.

Peter blinked.

The suit the other man made him think, for a second, that _this_ was Daredevil, and he wondered what the ping was.

Then he realized that the man was emitting his _own_ ping, and that made him a threat, which made him _definitely not Daredevil._

He shot out a web without thinking any further, knocking the rifle out of the man’s hand and slinging it off the roof.

“What?!” the man yelled, looking over the edge of the roof, before turning to face him. “That was expensive! And one of my favorites! And you’re just-…” And then there was a pause. “Holy shit, you’re _Spiderman.”_

The man sounded kind of in awe, which, Peter wasn’t gonna lie, felt pretty good. But that wasn’t the point- the point was that this man was _clearly_ risking his mission, given to him by the Avengers directly, and he couldn’t stand for that. Also, he was apparently planning to _murder_ someone, which was…pretty bad.

Peter hadn’t really dealt with murderers, much. He dealt with petty crime. Muggings and robberies and stuff. He hadn’t stopped someone like _this_ , who held a rifle like an extension of his body. And, as Peter looked closer, he noticed the man had at least _three other guns_ just that Peter could see.

“Okay, strong silent type,” the man said. “I can dig that. But, seriously, what’s _Spiderman_ doing wasting his time rolling up to a small-time mercenary?”

“I don’t know who you think I am,” Peter said. “But small-time is kind of my thing.”

“ _Nonsense_ , Spidey,” the self-professed mercenary said. “You’ve even upgraded your suit. You’re clearly on _somebody’s_ payroll.” But then the merc was pulling out a gun. “Is it bulletproof?”

“Uh,” Peter said. “Let’s not find out.”

The gun was aimed at him, so Peter flicked a wrist, shooting it out of the merc’s hands, just like the last.

“Okay, you’re real, I buy it,” the merc said. “Oh, wow. Can I get an autograph?”

That floored Peter for a second, because, _what?_ And then he shook it off and asked, “What are you doing, here? Do you have something to do with Daredevil’s disappearance?”   
“That depends, who the hell is-…Oh, third red suit guy?” the merc said. “Nah. I’m taking out the guy that’s got a gun to his head, though. Or I _was,_ but now I’m gonna have to go get up close and personal, because someone dropped my snipe off a roof.”

Peter didn’t know much about guns, but he’s pretty sure no one called a sniper rifle a ‘snipe.’ Except, apparently, this guy, who was quickly making this day into the top ten weirdest days of Peter’s life.

He was going to reply, when the merc’s words sunk in. Someone had a _gun_ to Daredevil’s head.

“Stay here,” Peter said, and jumped off the roof, slinging across the gap between building and sticking to the side of the one Daredevil was supposedly in, and climbed around, peeking in windows for a sign of Daredevil.

Near his head, the glass on a window exploded into shards, and he turned his head to the origin of the shot.

The merc stood proudly on the edge of the roof, and called out, “He’s in _that_ room!”

Peter was _really_ gonna have to figure out who that guy was.

For now, though…

He crawled in through the broken window.

 

 

 

There were four guys in the room Peter dropped into, and they were all aiming guns his way the second he touched the floor, having been alerted to his presence by the window shattering. He reacted quickly, firing webs from both wrists at the closest guns, pulling them into his sides and tossing them over his shoulder, out the window.

Distantly, he wondered what the civilians on the street must think, what with it raining discarded guns.

In the meantime…

He took out the other two disarmed gunmen, pinning them to the walls with webs, and then moved on to getting the two that were still armed.

Once all _that_ was taken care of, he moved to the middle of the room, where a man still mostly dressed in red, though sans mask, was tied to a chair.

“They seriously tied you up?” Peter said. “That’s so…cliché.”

“They’re gonna have to…” the man started, then stopped, and started again. “They can’t walk out of here.”

“Um,” Peter said, and went to untie the man. Daredevil, or whatever. “I’m not gonna _kill_ them, so…”

“They’ve seen my face,” Daredevil said. “They know who I am. I can’t have that.”

“Yeah, but we’re not _killing_ them, okay?” Peter argued.

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” a voice came from behind him, and Peter turned to see the merc from the roof dropping in through the window (plucking a piece of broken glass out of his arm, like it was _nothing)_ and then…

And then he pulled a gun.

“Wait, no, don’t-…!”

It was too late.

Four quick gunshots, one after the other, and the men Peter had _intended_ to leave for the police were all dead.

Peter nearly threw up.

Instead, he reacted, firing a web at the mercenary and pinning _him_ to the wall. “Who the hell are you, and what gives you the right to take _four lives?”_

“I’m a mercenary, and I was hired to do a job,” the man replied, like it was that easy. “Relax. I’m sure you see people get their brains scattered across concrete all the time.”

_Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben._

“Not really,” Peter said. “Because I tend to _stop_ that from happening. No one deserves to die.”

“Uh, false,” the mercenary said. “I’d like to introduce myself: Deadpool, mercenary kind-of-super anti-hero who proves that some people definitely, _definitely_ deserve to die.”

Peter wasn’t really sure if he meant that he killed people who deserved death, or deserved death himself.

If it was the latter, Peter felt almost inclined to agree.

Almost.

“ _No one_ deserves to die,” Peter reiterated. “And until you figure that out, you can sit right there in that web.”

See, the problem was, Peter had pinned him to the wall by the _wrist._

So the mercenary – _Deadpool,_ apparently – simply stared at him, and then, in one fluid motion, pulled out a knife, and cut off his own hand.

Peter was _definitely_ going to throw up.

Deadpool proceeded to yell “Peace, Spidey!” and _backflip_ out the window.

“Did he…just…” Daredevil murmured.

“You saw that too?” Peter asked, which, for some reason, made Daredevil laugh.

Whatever, Peter thought. Everyone in this city was _weird._

 

 

 

He got Daredevil out of the chair, and the two fought their way (non-lethally, because apparently, when his identity _wasn’t_ compromised, Daredevil actually respected human life) out of the building.

Then Daredevil told him he knew a place to go for help, and Peter followed him to an apartment building, of all things, where they both went in through a window.

“ _Christ_ , M- uh, man,” someone said, and Peter looked over to see a pretty woman and a worried-looking man in a suit sitting on the couch, the latter having been the one to speak. “Can you try _not_ to die, for one fucking night?”

“Sorry, Foggy,” Daredevil (whose real name must start with an _M,_ because this ‘Foggy’ had clearly been about to call him something along those lines) said. “I’ve been good about it, lately, though. I just…I heard a woman being kidnapped, and I thought I’d try and see where they were taking her, see if it was connected to our case. I got her free, but they caught me, and…”

“And now four people are dead,” Peter said, because he was still mad about that.

“You _killed people?”_ Foggy yelled.

“ _I_ didn’t,” Daredevil defended, but Peter wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“You _would have,”_ Peter insisted. “You were practically begging me to let you. That ‘ _Deadpool’_ just did you a favor, admit it.”

Foggy and the woman – who still hadn’t said a word – looked horrified. Daredevil sighed.   
“I don’t like killing people,” he said. “I prefer to let the police handle criminals when they can, but…they saw my face. They knew who I was. I couldn’t let them tell anyone.”

“Okay, you know how I said that I thought you just couldn’t stop yourself?” Foggy said. “This? This is proof. The final straw. You need help, Ma-… _Daredevil.”_ He sneered the last word. “You risking your own life, that sucks. Straight up taking someone else’s? That’s _horrible.”_

“There were thirteen dead bodies in that building alone, which _they_ were responsible for,” Daredevil said. “It would have been justified.”

Foggy looked ready to scream, but the woman interrupted. “Are you wounded?”

A pause. “No.”

She turned to Peter, then. “What about you? You okay?”

“I almost got shot a couple times,” Peter said. “So I’m kind of freaking out. But medically, I’m totally sound.”

She stared at him. “How old are you, anyway?”

Peter stuttered. “O-oh, y’know. A number.”

“Oh, my God,” Foggy sighed, turning to Daredevil. “You got your ass saved by a _kid.”_

“I’m not a kid!” Peter defended. “I’m almost eighteen!”

_Shit. Wrong thing to say._

Daredevil swore, and Foggy let out a loud groan.

“Look, it’s not important,” Peter said. “Mister Stark and the Avengers asked me to help, so I did.”

Foggy stared at him in disbelief. “The Avengers…sent a seventeen-year-old kid…to help?” He didn’t give Peter time to defend himself. “I’m never calling them for help again, because they clearly can’t be trusted.”

“I helped!” Peter argued.

“You also risked your life,” Daredevil said. “I’m not having a teenager die for me.”

“I didn’t _die,_ I wasn’t even close,” Peter said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“That mercenary almost killed you.”

“He’s _crazy,”_ Peter said. “He cut off his own hand!”

“Wait, who did what?” Foggy said. “Start at the beginning.”

So Peter recapped the night.

 

 

 

It was late before he was finally able to escape Daredevil’s safehouse and make his way home, slipping in his own window and peeling off his costume.

First thing’s first: call the Avengers.

He called Tony and told him what had happened, going over the whole night, just like he had for Foggy. Tony promised to look into the whole ‘Deadpool’ thing, because seriously, they did _not_ need a costumed villain on the loose, and none of them really bought Deadpool’s claim to “anti-hero.”

When his story-telling was done, Tony went to hang up, telling him to get some sleep. “Anyway, isn’t tomorrow a school day?”

“It’s summer,” Peter said. “It has been for a _month,_ Mister Stark.”

“Sue me, I’ve been in Paris,” Mister Stark replied. “In the room next to an engaged couple that won’t stop having loud hardcore sex. So I’m a little off on my days.”

Peter made a face. “Good night, Mister Stark.”

“Night, kid.”

And Peter hung up, tucking into bed and drifting off, his last thought being _Man, my life is weird._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets really offended by everyone's general opinion of him

Bucky set an alarm on the morning of the third day of July for _four thirty_ in the morning, because Steve could occasionally wake up as early as five and Bucky wanted to be up first.

He ended up deleting it before it even went off, because he woke up naturally at _three_ , after sleeping for the grand total of two hours.

Better night than some, he figured, getting up and getting dressed.

Room service had no business hours. It ran all day and all night. Thus, they had no problem with Bucky calling down and scheduling a breakfast delivery at exactly six a.m.

Then, at five-thirty, he crawled onto Steve (directly onto the man himself, not just on the bed next to him) and started kissing along his neck, trailing a hand along his side, keeping his touches light and teasing until Steve finally stirred from the contact.

“Buck…?” Steve yawned, moving to sit up.

“I know your birthday isn’t till tomorrow,” Bucky said, kissing Steve’s temple. “But your _party_ is today, so I thought I’d do something special.”

And then he tucked a hand into Steve’s pajama pants.

Steve let out a small gasp as Bucky’s fingers teased him, running gently over his penis, before pulling away and tugging on the waistband of his drawstring pants. Steve lifted his hips obligingly, letting Bucky tug the pants – and Steve’s boxers – down and off. Steve responded by pulling his own shirt off, leaving him naked. He half expected Bucky to ignore his shirtlessness and go for his dick, but instead, Bucky moved up, taking a nipple into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue.

Steve groaned. “I see why you like that.”

Bucky just hummed around the nipple, before pulling off, replacing his mouth with his fingers, rolling the sensitive skin between finger tips. “When we get back from the party today, I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” Steve said.

Bucky looked kind of nervous. “Would you like it if I fucked you?”

All the blood in Steve’s body went straight to forming a _killer_ erection. “Uh…yeah. That sounds _awesome,_ actually. I’d like to see what you enjoy so much about it.”

“The prostate, Stevie,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna get _real_ familiar with that.”

“Looking forward to it,” Steve replied, honestly.

Bucky gave him a wicked grin, and then moved down to his waist, taking Steve into his mouth.

Altogether, the morning was a good one.

 

 

They ate their breakfast when it arrived, and then Bucky had Friday ping the rest of the Avengers and remind them it was party day.

They gathered in the lobby of the hotel and headed straight for their first stop of the day: The Louvre.

Bucky remembered, vaguely, some point in the 30s or so when Steve had asked Bucky if he would take him to every art museum in New York. They’d gone to all of the free ones that they could reach without paying ridiculous amounts for a train, which was admittedly not a lot. Still, Bucky remembered Steve’s face each time they went to one. Remembered, a bright spot among muddled dream-like memory, Steve dragging him between exhibits and trying to explain to him how _beautiful_ everything was.

Thinking back, Bucky thought the only thing that had been _really_ beautiful, was Steve.

Bucky didn’t tell anyone all that logic, he just said “Steve likes art,” and wrote it onto their agenda for the day.

Steve was the only one they _didn’t_ tell where they were going, so when he caught on to the direction they were walking in, he started practically _bouncing_ with excitement.

“Oh, my God, Bucky,” Steve said, when they stopped in front of the Louvre. “I’ve _always_ wanted to see this place.”

“I figured it’d be your thing,” Bucky said with a shrug, like that was all the thought he’d put into it. Let it never be said that he was a braggart.

It was an early morning on a weekday in early July, and hot as hell outside, so there weren’t a _lot_ of people, but there were still more than Bucky was comfortable with. Seeing Steve’s face, though, he couldn’t bring himself to regret picking it.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel a quiet, creeping anxiety, but at least Steve didn’t seem to notice.

Clint, however, _did,_ and snuck up next to him, snaking an arm casually around his waist. “Yo, gorgeous.”

“Don’t say ‘yo’,” Bucky told him. “It just sounds wrong coming from you.”

“I can think of a few reasons that makes sense,” Clint said. “Mainly because I’m forty-seven.”

 “Oh, really?” Bucky said. “So you _are_ a creepy old man.”

Clint bumped Bucky’s hip with his own. There was a strange noise in the distance, but Bucky ignored it when Clint spoke again. “Shut up, you’re twice my age.”

“I’m actually older than that.”

Clint made a face. “Gross. Changing the subject, now. Why you look so ready to bolt?”

Bucky sighed, and waved a hand around the space in front of the museum. “So many _people.”_

Clint nodded. “Well, I know you’re not gonna go back to the hotel or drag us somewhere else, even though those would be the best thing for you, because today is about Steve. So, let’s do this: you need a breather, you find me. I’ll drag you away and distract you by finding as many statue’s marble dicks as possible.”

“You’re a pervert,” Bucky informed him. “…But okay.”

Clint patted him on the _ass_ of all things and walked back to Natasha to pick up the conversation they’d been having on the way over.

Bucky’s attention was caught by the strange noise again, at the same second Clint’s hand had made contact. As the archer wandered off, Bucky looked into the direction of it.

And froze.

Someone was pointing a camera his way.

The strange noise had been a camera shutter.

Someone had taken pictures of him. Someone who wanted him not to know about those photos, judging by the distance they stood away. Someone with unknown intentions. That…that could be bad.

Steve’s hand closed around his arm, dragging him from his thoughts. “C’mon, Bucky. Let’s go fight our way through tourists to look at one of the world’s greatest art collections.”

Bucky inhaled deeply, and nodded.

He could worry about the photographer _later._

They were probably just an Avengers fan, anyway, he figured.

That didn’t really stop dread from pooling in his stomach for the next hour.

 

 

 

They looked at everything. Even the neglected exhibits that _nobody_ was stopping at.

True to his word, Clint pointed out _every single dick._ It was childish, but a few points were accompanied by the glares of strangers or Clint’s quick quips, or both, all three options making Bucky snort and hold back a giggle.

Bucky relaxed. He forgot about the people and – more importantly – he forgot about the photographer.

Until they were already on the way to their next stop, which was a meeting place to join a whole stereotypical tour group, because Steve had always been a fan of guided tours and Tony had always liked being a piece of shit that made the rest of the group socialize with strangers. They made it about halfway to the street the meet-up was at, when Tony’s phone pinged loudly.

He pulled it out – that was a very _specific_ tone, which Friday only used with emergencies.

Everyone froze. “What is it?” Natasha asked, instantly sliding from _Nat_ to _Black Widow._ “Do we need to-…”

“Barnes,” Tony said, staring blankly at his screen. “What did I tell you about watching what you do in public?”

Bucky was confused, for a second, before the sound of camera shutters came back into his head. Sure enough, when Tony thrust the phone into his face, the picture on the screen was Clint, wrapped around him in front of the Louvre, hand on his ass in mid-pat, looking as though they were just standing in that pose because they felt like it, and not because Clint was a strangely tactile and ridiculously flirty guy and Bucky had been about to panic in public.

He opened his mouth to _explain_ the picture, but snapped it shut when he saw the headline.

_IS THE WINTER SOLDIER HAVING AN AFFAIR?_

“This is ridiculous,” Bucky said. “Can I not do _anything_ without it being misinterpreted?”

Steve leaned over his shoulder to look, and Bucky _heard_ his jaw lock up as he processed it. “What _was_ happening, Bucky?”

“Clint flirts,” Bucky said. “You know that. It’s part of who he is.”

“What about me?” Clint asked, and came over to look. “…Shit, they got a _picture_ of that? Still, easy enough to make that go away. Pepper’s probably got a PR team on it and if you guys hold hands while standing near me a couple times today it’ll make people realize it’s probably bullshit.”

“Probably,” Steve echoed. “ _Probably_ bullshit.”

“Steve,” Bucky started to say, but the other man was already shaking his head.

“Sorry. I’m being irrational. You guys are tactile, I know that.”

Bucky frowned, and wrapped a hand around Steve’s arm. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

“No, you don’t have to,” Steve said. “You should enjoy having friends. Just…”

“Don’t sleep with him,” Bucky finished, hollowly. “I _said_ I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said. “I just-…”

Bucky dropped his hand. Steve didn’t trust him to keep his word.

“Okay,” Clint spoke up. “I’m sensing that _I’ve_ royally fucked up here, so I’m just gonna back away and try not to talk or touch anybody until we get home. Yeah? Yeah.”

“Probably for the best,” Tony said. “Look, we can deal with this when we get home. Let’s enjoy the day, first, okay?”

So they went on the tour. It was long, and no one really seemed to _enjoy_ it, but it was better than dropping all pretenses of a ‘party’ and heading back to the hotel.

They debated for a long time on what to do with the end of the day. Nothing circus-y, because Clint would ruin it by cringing at every turn and revealing the tricks. No ballet, because Natasha still had just a tad bit of psychological trauma related to ballet, and tended to get into _Black Widow_ mode and start correcting every flaw and panicking when someone implied a performance didn’t have to be perfect.

Bucky ultimately suggested _dancing –_ emphasizing the _not ballet_ aspect – and everyone agreed that it sounded best.

Thus, they found themselves in a dance club, with Bucky really missing the days of dance _halls,_ which were significantly classier, and featured the type of dancing he actually knew how to do.

Bucky spent the first ten minutes in the club expecting Clint to make him dance, before he remembered that the man was trying to avoid another faux pau. He sighed, looking to Thor, and asking, “Do you have any-…”

Thor had the flask out instantly, and quietly handed it over.

“Thanks, buddy,” Bucky said. He’d taken about four shots of it in his whiskey the night he’d gotten wasted on it, so four was probably all he needed.

He asked the bartender for an empty glass, and poured out _five._

 

 

 

Bucky watched Natasha keep Steve from making a retreat, holding him on the dance floor with her, as the two danced.

Something dark twisted inside Bucky. _They dance all the time,_ he thought. _They do all sorts of things. Natasha’s even kissed Steve before. And Clint isn’t allowed to comfort me when I’m upset, because people might see?_

Bucky made up his mind, and sat down an empty glass – and, whoa, when did he finish that – and approached Clint, holding out a hand.

“Your bestie stole my fiancé,” Bucky said. “I think we can dance, too.”

Clint shrugged, and took the hand, letting Bucky lead him out. “Prepare to be shown up, old man, because I actually know how to dance.”

And Clint did. Bucky watched him for a minute before he caught on to the fluidity of the movements, and tried mimicking them.

Laughing, Clint shook his head, and corrected him. “No, like…” and he would repeat a movement.

They went on like that for three songs, Clint casually teaching him to dance, before finally Bucky got the rhythm and they danced together easily.

But then the song turned slow and sexual, and Clint moved to retreat back to the bar.

On impulse, Bucky caught his wrist. “No, I want to _dance.”_

Clint’s head snapped toward him, and then the man was looking between Bucky and where he was holding his wrist. Distantly, in Bucky’s drunk brain, he figured he should let go.

His fingers didn’t so much as twitch.

“Bucky,” Clint said, low and careful. “Let me go.”

“But I want-…”

“Bucky, _you’re hurting me.”_

 _That_ got through Bucky’s head, and he jerked his hand away like he’d been burned.

Clint’s hands were on Bucky’s shoulders immediately, and the man stepped into Bucky’s space, inhaling. “You drank Asgardian ale again, didn’t you?”

Bucky nodded, guilty.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, buddy, you wanted to drink. I get that. But Drunk Bucky seems to have some issues to work through, and until you either fix them or sober up, we should probably head back to the hotel.”

Bucky shook his head quickly. “Steve-…”

“Will understand,” Clint said. “C’mon, buddy, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

 

 

 

Clint told no one except Natasha what was going on, and only gave her the bare minimum: _Bucky’s drunk, and in a bad headspace – I’m taking him to sober up._

Clint had a cab take them back to the hotel, citing Bucky being drunk as a good a reason as any not to walk. Then he hauled Bucky up to their floor, and into Clint’s room, saying, “Something tells me you and Steve should avoid each other, right now.”

Bucky missed the logic. Instead, he registered that Clint had taken him back to the wrong room, and said, “Are we gonna-…”

“ _No,”_ Clint said, immediately, and Bucky winced, because Clint _never_ rejected him. “Not that you’re not still completely hot and fuckable, promise. I just don’t feel like taking advantage of you, especially when it will probably end in Cap killing me.”

“He wouldn’t kill you,” Bucky groaned, as Clint helped him kick his shoes off and climb into bed. “He’s too _good._ Nothing like me.”

“And we’ve reached self-hatred,” Clint murmured. “You really are wasted. How much did you drink?”

Bucky tried to remember. “Five?”

“Five _what_ , buddy?” Clint asked. “A number tells me nothing.”

Bucky just giggled at him.

“Hysteria. Nice.” Clint pulled the blanket up around him, and then, after a moment’s clear deliberation, climbed into the other side of the bed. “Go to sleep, buddy, and we’ll deal with your fucked up mental state tomorrow.”

Bucky immediately turned over, slinging an arm around Clint, who tensed.

“I don’t really _cuddle,_ man,” Clint said. Bucky just nuzzled down into Clint’s neck, holding tighter. “…But you clearly _do,_ so I’m gonna just let this one go, and tomorrow we’ll have one of those long annoying talks about feelings and stuff, where I clarify that I am not your stand-in when Steve’s pissed off.”

Bucky was asleep before the archer finished talking.

 

 

 

“Rise and fucking shine, you pieces of shit.”

Bucky groaned at the sudden noise, and the flash of _bright, too bright_ as someone turned the lights on. He flung a forearm over his eyes to help block it out.

“Nuh-uh. None of that,” that was Tony’s voice, and Bucky moved his arm, cracking his eyes open just enough to glare. “Yeah, glare all you want, I’m not the one in the wrong here.”

“What does that even _mean_?” Bucky croaked out.

And then he processed something.

This was not his and Steve’s room.

The night before flashed back through his head in pieces. _Pictures, Clint, dancing, Steve, drinking, hotel._

Bucky pieced together what Tony was insinuating. They’d all assumed, based on him and Clint leaving early together, that they’d had sex the night before.

He _laughed._ Bitter and angry, but a laugh.

“Oh, it’s funny?” Tony said.

“It’s _hysterical_ ,” Bucky rasped back.

The bathroom door opened, and a shower-fresh Clint stepped out, pulling on a shirt. “Do I wanna know what’s-…Tony.”

“Yeah, that guilty voice?” Tony said. “Try and rub that off on Barnes, here, because he really doesn’t seem to give a shit that he’s wrecking the best thing in his life.”

_The best thing in his life._

He was vaguely offended that they thought the pinnacle of his existence was _Steve._ Even though, technically, they weren’t wrong.

God knows he wasn’t living for himself.

Clint groaned. “Stark, trust me, there’s a lot going on here, and you’re best not getting involved.”  
“Except one of my best friends just made my _other_ best friend come to _me_ of all people crying because his fiancé would rather be with someone else.” Bucky could hear the glare in Tony’s voice, even if he wasn’t looking. “On his _birthday,_ I’ll remind you.”

Bucky felt like the biggest piece of shit on the planet, because he’d made Steve cry.

But, in the same vein, he was _pissed_.

“Because obviously you know exactly what happened,” Bucky bit out. “You know the full story from both sides and made an informed decision that I’m at fault, which is the same decision _everyone_ makes, because I don’t fucking matter.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

Bucky sat up in bed, glaring. “Look at me, Tony. I’m _dressed,_ just missing shoes, because _I didn’t have sex._ I’m hungover as hell, because I got piss drunk when Steve got mad at me. And I’m about ready to climb to the top of the Eiffel and see if they serum makes the drop non-lethal, because believe it or not, I don’t need your help to hate myself.”

A pause. “Steve is still upset, and you owe him an apology.”

“I don’t owe him _shit!”_ Bucky yelled. “He’s the one that basically accused me of not being able to keep it in my pants, because Clint dared to actually make physical contact while he talked me down from a _fucking panic attack.”_

Tony looked conflicted. “He didn’t have to get so physical.”

“Then yell at me,” Clint interrupted. “Bucky’s right, he doesn’t owe anyone a damn thing. He’s been through _hell_ , Tony, do you really blame him for having trouble processing good things?”

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Maybe it’s neither of their fault. But listen – Bucky. You’re really close to pushing Steve’s last button. You need to fix whatever misunderstanding you two have, and _fast,_ because I’m not really into the awkward breakup vibe.”

And then he left.

“Well,” Clint said. “That could have gone better.”

Bucky laid back into the bed, pulling the blanket over his face.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to get up again.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama to fluff to porn, all in one chapter. The rollercoaster continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I fucked up and missed like 5 months of updates whoops. But the story returns now, with the same drama fluctuation as before. Also Steve Rogers getting fucked in the ass. Have fun, kids.

_IT’S NOT UNUSUAL TO BE LOVED BY ANYONE~_

Bucky groaned at the song as it started playing. “Friday, can you shut that off?”

“Mister Stark insisted I play it.”

 _Fuck Tony, honestly,_ Bucky thought.

_IT’S NOT UNUSUAL TO HAVE FUN WITH ANYONE_

_BUT WHEN I SEE YOU HANGING ABOUT WITH ANYONE_

_IT’S NOT UNUSUAL TO SEE ME CRY_

_(I WANT TO DIE)_

Bucky sighed heavily, and kicked the blankets away, crawling out of bed. “Point taken, Stark,” he muttered, slipping his boots on and heading for the door. “I’ll talk to Steve, just knock off the fucking pity soundtrack.”

The music stopped.

Bucky couldn’t really bring himself to feel relieved.

He headed down the hall, sparing a thought to where Clint might have slipped off to – fuck knows, honestly, because he definitely didn’t stick around for Bucky’s pity party.

Bucky reached his and Steve’s room and briefly considered knocking, but realized that he had a keycard for a reason, and Steve likely wouldn’t let him in anyway, depending on how mad he was.

With that logic in mind, he let himself in.

Steve was lying in bed, and looked up when Bucky entered. Bucky felt a wave of guilt at the worn look on Steve’s face, but it was quickly replaced with anger. How dare he assume the worst, automatically, when Bucky had _no history_ of breaking his trust?

“Morning, Buck,” Steve sighed out. “I guess we’re gonna fight now, huh?”  
“Depends,” Bucky said. “Let me talk, first.”  
Steve waved a hand, signaling him to continue.

“I’m sorry that I’m impulsive,” Bucky began. “I’m sorry I jumped the gun a month ago and fired off at some weird magical artifact, wrecking multiple square miles and racking up a death toll and basically giving everyone just cause to hate me. I’m sorry I talk before I think, and say stuff that comes out a lot worse than I meant it. And I’m sorry that no one can mind their own business, and that when I’m panicking and Clint gets tactile, people assume the worst. But I’m not sorry for letting him talk me down from a panic attack, or letting him take me out of the bar when I made the brilliant decision to let Thor give me more alcohol.”   
“You got drunk?” Steve questioned. “Bucky, that’s-…”

“Let me talk,” Bucky interrupted. “I promise I’ll listen to everything you wanna say, but let me get this out first. I _love_ you.” He watched Steve swallow back whatever he was going to say, then pressed forward. “I love you to Hell and back. Christ, Steve – I’ve _been_ to Hell and back for you. A few times. Even way back in the war, when my unit was captured, I was thinking the whole time ‘God, I’m glad Steve isn’t with me. I’m glad he’s safe from this.’ And then you showed up, and I couldn’t tell if God was giving me a gift or spitting in my face. And look at us now. We’ve been through _so much,_ both together and separate…and you still don’t trust me worth a damn.”   
“I trust you!” Steve immediately protested.

“No, you _don’t._ Not where it counts,” Bucky said. “Right now, we’re not in a firefight. In that situation, you trust me to watch your back, yeah. But day-to-day, trusting me just to not fuck you over? That’s beyond you. You’re so willing to believe that I’ll turn around and abandon you at any point. I get trust issues, Steve, I do, but I can’t be reassuring you after everything I do that I _didn’t_ do whatever you dreamt up. I love you, but I’ve got too much paranoia of my own to worry about. So, here and now, I’m gonna promise you something: I did not sleep with anyone else, and have not since you told me not to, and I _will not_ in the future, so long as we’re together – and I fucking hope that’s forever.”

The room was entirely silent for a moment, before Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Bucky instantly deflated. “Okay? That’s…that’s it then? We’re good?”

Steve shook his head, causing Bucky’s heart to clench. “I wouldn’t say we’re _good._ We’ve got…a _lot_ of issues. But I realize that neither of us is right here. You’re being really…overly casual about our relationship, as far as I can see, and I’m being way too controlling. We both have things to work on. But I’m not mad at you, and I don’t really see the point in continuing to fight with you when you’ve got just as much to be angry about. If not _more._ I didn’t even consider that you might have been nervous or uncomfortable while we were out. I just figured you didn’t want to be there with _me.”_

“That’s stupid,” Bucky said immediately, before flushing. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Steve laughed. “It _is_ stupid. It’s just…a complex. Ever since we were kids, I’ve been worried you were too good for me.”

“Are you aware you’re the actual Captain America?” Bucky joked, but Steve suddenly looked serious.

“I’m not,” Steve said. “Or at least, I don’t want to be. Not to you. When it’s you and me, I want Captain America and the Winter Soldier to just…cease to exist, for a while. Bucky and Steve need time to shine.”

Bucky was going to argue that the Winter Soldier could never really _stop_ existing, it was a physical block in his mind that would likely never go away, but he didn’t feel like it was necessary to bring the mood back to sour.

Steve sighed and then smiled softly at Bucky, before scooting over and patting the bed next to him. “Join me? I missed you.”

Bucky laughed softly, but obliged, toeing his shoes back off and climbing into the bed. “I was only away from you for like, ten hours or something.”

“Yeah, but I was worried about you the whole time,” Steve said. “That made it feel longer.”

Bucky tucked into Steve’s side, throwing an arm over his waist. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Steve hummed. “Honestly, I nearly forgot that was today.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “I guess I kind of ruined the good cheer for the day.”

“You’re fine,” Steve assured him. “I haven’t really done anything since I came out of the ice.”

“Explains why Clint didn’t even know when your birthday _was.”_

Steve snorted. “I can’t believe he never realized. I’m sure I’ve at least had it mentioned, before.”

“Like he gives a shit,” Bucky said. “It’s entirely possible he heard and forgot about it.”

Steve went to say something else, but was interrupted by Friday announcing a group call on the Avengers line.   
“Nosy assholes,” Bucky muttered. “They’re probably making sure we haven’t killed each other.”

Laughing, Steve accepted the call, letting Friday project the faces of the other Avengers around them.

“Oh, look,” Tony observed immediately. “They’re cuddling. Gross.”

Bucky casually flipped off his screen.

“Is that what this call is for?” Steve asked. “Checking up on us?”  
“Maybe,” Tony said. “But mostly not. I’m checking up on _everyone._ Making sure I know what everyone is doing today so that no one gets completely lost.”

Bucky nodded, looking across the screens, before pausing. “Where’s Clint?”

“He ran away like a coward,” Wanda informed him.

“What she _means,”_ Bruce corrected, “Is that he took a jet this morning to go back home for the day and spend the Fourth with his kids.”

“Which lead to me making this call,” Tony said. “Because I want to make sure no one else was hoping to take off, because we sort of only came in one jet.”

“I have no plans,” Wanda said. “I’m not even American.”

“And I am the same,” Pietro said. “I also think Vision is spending the day with us.”

“That is correct,” Vision confirmed. “I wish to see more of the city – a desire Wanda and I share.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, wagging his eyebrows once, only for Steve to elbow him in the side. His fiancé was smiling, though, which he took as a win.

“I’m gonna be looking into the final details on cleanup and such,” Natasha said. “Making sure nothing else needs doing.”   
“I’m going to make sure no one else needs my help with medical care,” Bruce added. “And check up on the couple patients I helped who aren’t already fully healed up and gone.”

“Okay, that’s you guys, and I doubt Thor is gonna turn up for a holiday that’s basically worthless to him, so. That leaves the power couple.” Tony scrutinized Steve and Bucky through the screens. “Any particular plans?”

Bucky went to say something vulgar, but Steve must have sensed that, because he slapped a hand over Bucky’s mouth. “We’re mainly winging it, I think.”

Tony made a face. “I don’t want to know. I’m gonna hang up now and let you guys all…do whatever.”

“Wait,” Bucky said, as Steve released him. “What are _you_ doing?”   
“Working on paperwork,” Tony said. “I’d really like to get us clear for re-entry to the U.S. ASAP.”

Bucky grimaced at the reminder of why they’d been waylaid in Paris. “Good luck, Tony,” he said. “Try not to piss off immigration officials.”

“Easier said than done,” Tony replied. “Alright, I’m out. See you later, kids.”

They all signed off their calls, and Bucky buried his face back into Steve’s shoulder. “We’re free.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “How should we spend our day, then? You’re the one with the master plan.”

“Honestly,” Bucky said, “I had a very loose idea of what to do today. Most of those ideas don’t involve leaving this bed.”

Steve laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m a man of simple tastes.”

 Steve smiled, but the look quickly turned coy. “I believe we had an idea of what we were going to try?”

Bucky remembered immediately, and sat up slightly, looking down at Steve with heat. “You still want to…?”

“Please?” Steve asked.

Bucky leaned down and gave Steve a hard, intense kiss. “Hell yeah.”

Steve leaned up, giving himself room to undress, so Bucky got out of bed and did the same before digging around in their stuff to find lube.

He eyed the bottle for a second, reading carefully.

“What’re you up to?” Steve said.

“Travel bottles are tiny,” Bucky said. “And we’ve already used some of this one. I’m just estimating about how much I’ll need.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, Buck, but you’re not that big.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re right, and if this were _me,_ I’d be fine with about a fourth of what you’re gonna need. But that’s because I do it more. Hell, even jacking off, I tend to finger myself.”

Steve swallowed. “…Really?”

Bucky winked. “I’ll tell you about it later. For now – basically, you’re gonna want me to be excessive. It’s better to use more than you need than less.”

Satisfied the bottle would be sufficient, he walked back over and climbed back into bed. “I’m just being paranoid, though, I promise. I want to make sure I do this as good as possible, so that we can decide if this is something you like.”

Steve frowned. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

Bucky shrugged. “Preference? I like it a lot, but some guys don’t. I’ve, uh…” he paused. “I’m gonna be honest? I’ve never been on this side. Any guys I’ve ever paired with for honeypot things were pretty strictly absorbed with the macho man thing. Getting fucked doesn’t really fit that ideal.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve said, kissing Bucky lightly. “You seem to know a lot, anyway.”

Bucky blushed then. “I, uh…I tend to hyperfocus when I realize I need to know something. The first time I had to have a male honeypot I started learning, and the past couple of months, I’ve done a _lot_ of googling.”

Steve laughed. “That gets a lot funnier to me when I think about the fact that JARVIS – well, Friday now – tracks our browsing. Tony probably has a ton of data on your porn habits.”

Bucky blanched. “Please don’t kill my boner before we even get started.”

“Speaking of which,” Steve said, before threading a hand through Bucky’s hair and pulling him into another kiss. “When is this gonna start?”

Bucky moved his hands to trail across Steve’s chest lightly, a teasing touch. “I could be persuaded to start now.”

“Oh, really?” Steve laughed quietly, dragging Bucky forward as he leaned back. “I’ll have to use my patented Captain America charm, then, shall I?”

“’Captain America charm’ tends to mean punching,” Bucky pointed out. “And that’s not really my thing. Any other kind of touching, though – _that_ I’m good with.”

Steve hummed, and then ran his hands down Bucky’s sides, around to his back, before grabbing his ass. “Like this?”

Bucky grinned, and shifted so he was seated to the side of Steve slightly, and started to kiss his neck, before starting to work down, kissing and sucking a trail all the way to a nipple, which he began to tease lightly, reaching around to toy with the other with his fingers.

Steve didn’t have the same sensitivity there as Bucky did, but it was still pleasant, and he hummed lightly at it – only for that hum to become a moan as Bucky’s nipple-teasing hand trailed lower and began to stroke his cock.

“Buck,” Steve moaned, brokenly, and Bucky pulled off his chest and flashed him a grin before slowly working his way along his stomach, down to settle between his legs. He kissed the inside of his thigh, before trailing his tongue up it, until he hit Steve’s balls, which he took into his mouth, sucking on them as he stroked Steve.   
“Christ,” Steve groaned.

Bucky pulled back a bit to chuckle. “Watch the blasphemy, you’re a good Catholic boy.”

Before Steve could be sarcastic in response, Bucky put a hand under Steve’s leg and lifted it, propping it up to expose his ass. He paused in jerking Steve off to grab the lube bottle, and dumped a significantly excessive amount on his fingers (the flesh ones – he knew the metal wasn’t pleasant). Steve started to brace, and Bucky responded by not actually using his fingers yet – just returning to the stroke-and-suck motions from before. As Steve relaxed again, Bucky rested a single finger on his asshole, and gently stroked it with the lubed digit, until Steve stopped twitching at the contact.

Bucky switched his mouth from Steve’s balls to take his actual dick into his mouth, at the exact same time he slowly began sliding a finger in.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath. “ _Christ,”_ he muttered again. “That’s…a lot different.”

Bucky hummed around Steve’s cock (“ _Jesus, Buck-…”)_ before pulling off. “It’s weirder than you expect, the first time. Let me know if it doesn’t start feeling good, and we can swap.”

Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t gonna do that. He loved fucking Bucky, sure, but this was something he really wanted to try. He was gonna see it through, at least once.   
Bucky seemed to sense that, and shifted his finger inside Steve, making him gasp. “I’m serious, Steve, let me know if you want to stop. I’m not gonna have any fun here if you don’t.”

Just as he said that, his finger curled slightly, and a moan tore through Steve. “I-… _fuck_ , I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue, suddenly.”

Bucky snorted, shifting his finger again, experimentally. He didn’t feel any particularly unique tissue, which meant he hadn’t found the prostate – so he smirked. “Just wait,” he promised, and then leaned back forward to return to sucking Steve off.

He began to move his finger, not just curls, but pushing and pulling it in and out. As Steve’s thighs on his sides started to tremble lightly, he knew he’d reached the point to escalated, so he twirled his finger lightly to start loosening Steve up before carefully nudging in the next finger. Steve let out a ragged moan above him, and Bucky let himself enjoy the noise.

This continued for a bit, Bucky pausing and picking back up every few seconds to keep Steve from coming too quickly, and eventually Bucky had him shaking around three fingers and practically begging to be fucked.

“Ready?” Bucky asked, pulling his fingers out and pouring out more lube, applying this load of it to his dick.

“Please,” Steve moaned out. “I’m dying here, Buck.”

Bucky laughed quietly, and lined up, very slowly pushing in.

Steve cursed, a flurry of profanity as he reached up reflexively and grabbed Bucky’s shoulder with one hand and his hair with the other. “ _Fuck,_ that’s-…”

Bucky swore quietly himself, easing his way fully in. “I see why you like this bit,” he rasped. He was used to his dick being little more than an extra during sex – a sideshow, with the main attraction being getting fucked. This, though…this was intense. He had totally forgotten what it was like to fuck someone, and it was _brilliant._

“Seconded,” Steve moaned. “Christ, Bucky, fuck me.”

“Working on it,” Bucky quipped, and leaned forward to kiss Steve as he began to rock his hips, fucking lightly into his fiancé.

They moved together, Steve rolling his hips encouraging occasionally and Bucky thrusted into him, a lazy grind that was building them both up ridiculously quickly – Steve because Bucky had teased him so much getting there, and Bucky because the tight wet heat clamped around him wasn’t familiar enough for him to hold off an orgasm for long.

Within what couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes, Steve was shaking with full-body tremors and fighting to stay coherent, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Finally, Steve bit out a _“Buck-…”_ and pushed right over the edge, Bucky’s hand on his dick, which in turn pulled Bucky into an orgasm of his own.

They slumped together on the bed, Bucky carefully pulling out after a moment, and then cuddled up together, paying no mind to the mess they’d made.

“Holy shit,” Steve murmured.   
Bucky laughed, placing a light kiss onto his neck. “Watch your language.”  


End file.
